Chapter 2
I asked Marcus to step somewhere private.
For a moment, all I heard was music from inside the chapel. Then a door closed and the sound faded.
“I’m in a side room,” he said. “Tell me what this is.”
“Mr. Whitlow is sending you the records. Read them before you confront anyone.”
“My name is on an application for a loan against Dad’s property.”
“Yes.”
“Did you apply for it?”
“No.”
He was quiet. I could picture him looking down at his phone, trying to find the part that made sense.
“It says your signature is on it too.”
“I did not sign.”
“Who did?”
“We don’t know who wrote either signature. The lender has stopped the application.”
He let out a breath. “Renata brought me some papers last month. She said they were for a business proposal.”
“Did you sign them?”
“I signed one page. I didn’t see your name on it.”
I looked out the car window. We were stopped a block from the chapel, close enough that I could return if he asked.
“Stay where you are,” I said. “Read what Mr. Whitlow sends.”
“I have to go back in. People are waiting.”
“You can take ten minutes.”
Marcus ended the call. I thought he might ignore the documents and walk down the aisle. Two minutes later, he called again.
“Why didn’t Dad tell me about the trust?”
“He planned to. There’s a letter explaining his decision.”
“I’m thirty-four, Mom. He’s been gone two years.”
“I know.”
The pain in his voice was real. I had kept Walter’s secret because I believed I was honoring him. I also knew Marcus deserved a chance to question me about it.
“We can talk about that,” I said. “First, find out what someone tried to do using your name.”
“Renata says the lender has made a mistake.”
“She’s with you?”
“She came looking for me.”
I heard her in the background. “Marcus, give me the phone.”
He didn’t.
“Mr. Whitlow will speak with both of you if you want,” I said.
Marcus lowered his voice. “Where are you?”
“Nearby.”
“Stay there.”
The call ended.
I told my driver to park. Then I called Mr. Whitlow. He confirmed Marcus had opened the secure link containing the lender’s notice, the application, and Walter’s letter.
“What did the lender find?” I asked.
“They traced the submission to an account registered to a company associated with Renata’s brother. They’ve preserved the records. We need to let Marcus read them.”
“Has any money moved?”
“No. The application was stopped before approval.”
I thanked him. My hands were shaking by the time I put the phone down.
At three-thirty, Marcus appeared at the chapel entrance. His boutonniere was gone. Renata followed him, gripping his arm. He pulled free and walked toward my car.
I got out.
“Is the letter really from Dad?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He looked at me for a long moment. “He said he wanted me to learn from the people who built these businesses with him. He said you would decide when I was ready to begin.”
“That’s what he asked of me.”
“I wish you’d told me there was a letter.”
“I should have told you I was holding something important. I’m sorry.”
Renata reached us. “Marcus, they’re asking when we’ll start.”
He turned to her. “Did you send that application?”
“No. My brother looked into financing for our company. You knew that.”
“You told me I was signing an introduction to a lender.”
“It was. Nothing was approved.”
“My mother’s signature is on it.”
Renata glanced at me. “The forms were preliminary.”
“That doesn’t answer him,” I said.
She crossed her arms. “You’ve wanted this wedding to fail from the beginning.”
I remembered the deposit, the flowers I had ordered for the chapel, and the seat I had imagined taking in the front row. I didn’t answer her accusation.
Marcus looked between us. “I need to speak to Mr. Whitlow.”
“I can arrange that,” I said.
Renata caught his sleeve. “After the ceremony.”
“We’re already married,” Marcus said. “You told me today was for the people we love.”
Her face changed. “And now you want to humiliate me in front of them?”
“I want to know why my name is on that application.”
The chapel doors opened behind her. A woman with a clipboard approached and asked whether the couple needed more time.
Marcus said yes.
Renata went back inside to speak to the guests. I walked with Marcus to the car. He stopped before getting in.
“You’re not going to tell me everything at once and expect me to be grateful,” he said.
“I won’t.”
“I’m angry with you too.”
“I understand.”
He sat beside me. For the first time in months, we were close enough to speak without a phone between us.
Mr. Whitlow answered on the first ring. He told Marcus what the lender had confirmed and what remained uncertain. He did not accuse Renata of writing the signatures. He showed us the submission records.
Marcus listened, then asked for one page again.
“There’s a witness name here,” he said.
I leaned toward the screen.
The name belonged to Daniel Price, the friend Renata had said prepared the papers she brought to my kitchen.
May you like
Marcus stared at it.
“Daniel was at our courthouse wedding,” he whispered. “He was our witness there too.”
