Chapter 8
The reception ended with police interviews instead of dancing.
Guests left in clusters, carrying gossip that would outrun any official statement.
Sabrina sat in the bridal suite with mascara streaking her face.
Logan paced by the mirror.
Victoria whispered into her phone until Marisol had the account frozen.
Raymond demanded a lawyer.
I stood outside on the terrace, listening to the ocean.
My ruined suit was in a garment bag beside me.
Marisol had insisted we bring it.
Evidence.
That word still felt strange.
For three months, I had called it love.
Detective Harris joined me.
“Mr. Carter.”
“Glenn.”
He nodded.
“Glenn. We have enough for a fraud investigation. The bank confirmed a mortgage appointment for Monday. Your wife booked it.”
I laughed once.
It hurt.
“Of course she did.”
“We also found forged authorization forms in Logan Pierce’s email.”
I turned.
“Forged by who?”
“Too early to say.”
But his face told me he suspected Sabrina.
My stomach twisted.
“She signed my name?”
“She may have.”
I looked through the glass at the daughter I had raised.
She was arguing with Logan now.
Angry.
Afraid.
Still beautiful in the dress I had paid for.
Harris softened his voice.
“I know this is personal.”
“No. Personal was the suit. This is criminal.”
He nodded.
Then added, “There’s something else. Raymond Cole has outstanding civil judgments. Gambling debt. Two failed businesses. He reconnected with Sabrina shortly after your wife increased her life insurance inquiry.”
My body went cold.
“Life insurance?”
“On you.”
The ocean seemed to go silent.
“She looked into life insurance?”
“Three policies. None finalized yet.”
I thought of Victoria’s smile.
Her mortgage plan.
Disappear forever.
Maybe homeless had never been the final destination.
Maybe dead had been easier.
Marisol came onto the terrace.
“Glenn.”
I turned.
Her face was grim.
“The banking records go back farther than six months.”
“How far?”
May you like
She swallowed.
“Four years.”
