Chapter 2 - SMILE FOR THE CAMERASMaxwell Sterling blocked the restroom door.
Cecelia stood beside him.
Neither raised their voice.
That somehow made the situation worse.
People who expected consequences usually shouted.
People who believed they owned the consequences spoke softly.
Maxwell held up the torn corner of paper.
"I asked you a question, Mrs. Bennett."
I looked at it.
Then at him.
"I heard you."
"Did Chloe give you something?"
I reached into my purse.
Maxwell's shoulders tightened.
I pulled out a lipstick.
"She gave me a bouquet."
Cecelia's eyes narrowed.
Maxwell didn't move.
For several seconds, all I could hear was the music beyond the restroom walls.
Then I smiled.
"Is something wrong?"
Maxwell's expression changed almost instantly.
The suspicion disappeared.
The charming groom returned.
"No. Of course not."
He stepped aside.
"Chloe's emotional today. Weddings are overwhelming."
"Apparently."
Cecelia examined my face.
"You're very calm."
"I've raised a daughter for twenty-six years. I've survived emotional days."
I walked toward the exit.
Cecelia spoke behind me.
"Sarah."
I stopped.
"You wouldn't want to interfere in their marriage before it even begins."
I looked back.
"My daughter has been married for forty-three minutes."
"Exactly."
"And you're already warning me not to interfere."
Her smile vanished.
I left.
My knees almost buckled the moment the ballroom doors closed behind me.
But I kept walking.
The kitchen corridor was behind the ballroom, past the service bar and through a set of swinging doors. I found Thomas waiting beside stacked linen carts.
My sister Elaine stood beside him.
"What happened?" Elaine whispered.
I pulled out Chloe's note.
Thomas read it.
His face went white.
Elaine covered her mouth.
Then I showed them the photograph from the unknown sender.
Thomas enlarged the image.
"Do you recognize the room?"
"Bridal suite upstairs."
"You sure?"
"The carpet."
He nodded.
"Who sent this?"
"I don't know."
"What exactly has Chloe told you?"
"Nothing."
Thomas stared at me.
"Nothing?"
"She never said Maxwell hurt her."
Elaine looked furious.
"Then somebody photographed him grabbing her."
"Yes."
Thomas handed me the phone.
"We need Chloe alone."
"I know."
"And Sarah, if she's asking to leave, we leave. Immediately. No confrontation."
"Agreed."
"No dramatic speeches. No threatening Sterling. We get Chloe somewhere safe and figure everything else out afterward."
I understood why he was saying it.
Thomas knew me.
He knew that five minutes earlier I'd been imagining smashing a champagne bottle against Maxwell's perfectly styled head.
But I also understood what mattered.
Getting Chloe out.
Elaine touched my arm.
"Where is she?"
I looked through the kitchen doorway.
The dance floor was crowded.
Maxwell was near the bar.
Cecelia stood beside two women from her country club.
Chloe was missing.
My stomach dropped.
"I don't see her."
We split up.
Thomas checked the terrace.
Elaine searched near the bridal party.
I headed toward the elevators.
A hotel employee stepped in front of me.
"Mrs. Bennett?"
"Yes?"
"Your daughter asked me to give you this."
He handed me a champagne napkin folded into a square.
I opened it.
Three words.
Room 814. Alone.
I looked up.
"Where is she?"
But the employee was already walking away.
"Wait."
He disappeared into the service corridor.
I called after him.
No response.
I should have called Thomas.
I knew that later.
But when your child sends a message asking for help, rational thoughts become very small.
I entered the elevator.
Floor eight.
The doors closed.
My phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
Don't go alone.
Too late.
The elevator rose.
I typed:
Who are you?
Nothing.
The doors opened.
The eighth-floor corridor was almost silent.
814 was near the end.
I knocked.
"Chloe?"
No answer.
I tried the handle.
Unlocked.
I pushed the door open.
"Sweetheart?"
The room looked untouched.
A suitcase sat beside the bed.
Chloe's suitcase.
Her passport lay on the dresser.
Beside it was a second passport.
Maxwell's.
I stepped inside.
The door slammed behind me.
I spun around.
A man stood there.
Not Maxwell.
He was in his forties, broad shoulders, gray suit, security earpiece.
I'd seen him earlier near Graham Sterling.
"Mrs. Bennett."
"Who are you?"
"Hotel security."
"No, you're not."
His smile told me I was right.
He held out his hand.
"Your phone."
"No."
"Please don't make this difficult."
I backed toward the desk.
"If you touch me, two hundred people downstairs will notice I'm missing."
"They'll assume you're resting."
"My brother knows where I am."
That was a lie.
The man stepped closer.
"Your phone."
Then another voice spoke.
"She said no."
The bathroom door opened.
A young woman walked out.
She wore the hotel catering uniform.
Dark hair.
Maybe twenty-eight.
The man froze.
"You."
She lifted her phone.
"I've been recording for the last thirty seconds."
His face changed.
She continued.
"And your employer specifically told you not to approach Mrs. Bennett directly, didn't he?"
"Stay out of this."
"Too late."
I recognized her.
She was the server who had handed me champagne after I found Chloe's note.
"You sent the photograph."
"Yes."
"Who are you?"
"Rachel Monroe."
The security man took another step.
Rachel didn't move.
"Touch either of us," she said, "and the recording goes to three reporters."
He stopped.
Something flickered in his eyes.
Fear.
That interested me.
"Leave," Rachel said.
He hesitated.
Then opened the door.
Before stepping out, he looked at me.
"You should take your daughter and go home, Mrs. Bennett."
"That's exactly what I'm planning."
His mouth tightened.
"You don't understand."
"What?"
"The person you should be afraid of isn't Maxwell."
Then he left.
Rachel locked the door.
I turned toward her.
"Start talking."
She pulled off the catering jacket.
Underneath she wore a black T-shirt.
"My sister dated Maxwell Sterling three years ago."
My chest tightened.
"What happened?"
Rachel looked toward the door.
"Her name was Laura."
The way she said was told me the answer before she continued.
"She died."
I stared at her.
"How?"
"The official report says she drove off a bridge after drinking."
"And you don't believe that."
"My sister didn't drink."
A chill ran down my arms.
Rachel opened her phone and showed me a photograph.
A smiling young woman with dark hair stood beside Maxwell at a charity event.
Maxwell looked younger.
Laura looked happy.
"Three weeks before she died," Rachel said, "Laura called me and told me Maxwell had become controlling. He checked her phone, tracked her car, decided which friends she could see."
I thought about Cecelia warning me about Chloe's honeymoon.
Six weeks.
No family interruptions.
Rachel continued.
"Laura tried to leave."
"What happened?"
"She disappeared for eighteen hours. Then she called and told me she'd changed her mind."
Rachel swallowed.
"She sounded terrified."
"Did police investigate?"
"Detective Harold Keene handled the case."
I remembered the warning message.
Don't trust the police officer standing beside the ballroom exit.
"Keene is here tonight?"
Rachel nodded.
"He's wearing a dark-blue suit. Sterling Development has donated almost two million dollars to programs connected to his department."
"That doesn't automatically mean—"
"No. But two days after Laura died, evidence disappeared."
"What evidence?"
"Her phone."
I stared at her.
"Her phone disappeared from police custody?"
"Yes."
There was a knock.
Three fast taps.
Then two.
Rachel relaxed.
"That's Chloe."
I rushed toward the door.
Rachel caught my wrist.
"Wait."
She looked through the peephole.
Then opened it.
My daughter stumbled inside.
Her veil was gone.
Mascara streaked beneath her eyes.
One side of her wedding dress had torn near the waist.
I caught her.
"Mom."
"I'm here."
She collapsed against me.
Rachel locked the door again.
I held Chloe's face.
"Did he hurt you?"
Chloe shook her head.
Then nodded.
Then started crying.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize."
"I should've told you."
"We're leaving."
Her fingers tightened around mine.
"You don't understand."
"Then tell me."
She looked toward Rachel.
"You know about Laura?"
"Some."
Chloe's face changed.
"Laura wasn't the only one."
Silence.
"What do you mean?"
"There's another woman."
"Who?"
"Maxwell's first fiancée."
I stared at her.
"He was engaged before Laura?"
Chloe nodded.
"Her name was Rebecca Lane."
"What happened to her?"
"No one knows."
A knock sounded at the door.
Hard.
"Chloe."
Maxwell.
My daughter stopped breathing.
He knocked again.
"Sweetheart, open the door."
Rachel reached for her phone.
I pulled Chloe behind me.
Maxwell's voice remained calm.
"I know your mother is in there."
Another knock.
"Mrs. Bennett, this is a family misunderstanding."
Thomas texted.
Where are you?
I typed quickly.
814. Come now. Bring Elaine.
Maxwell spoke again.
"Chloe, we have a plane waiting. We're leaving for Paris in ninety minutes."
"No," Chloe whispered.
His voice changed.
Only slightly.
"You don't want to embarrass yourself."
Chloe clutched my sleeve.
Then another man's voice came through the door.
Older.
Graham Sterling.
"Sarah."
I had only met Maxwell's father twice.
He rarely attended social events, leaving Cecelia to represent the family.
Now his voice sounded exhausted.
"Please open the door."
"No."
"What my son has done is unacceptable."
Chloe looked at me.
Rachel's eyes narrowed.
Graham continued.
"But if you leave this hotel without understanding the full situation, Chloe may be in more danger than if she stays."
I stepped toward the door.
"What does that mean?"
A long silence.
Then Graham said something none of us expected.
"Maxwell doesn't know I'm the one who helped Chloe write the note."
Chloe gasped.
I turned toward her.
She stared at the door.
"That's impossible."
"Chloe," Graham said. "I found you in the library after Cecelia took your phone."
Chloe's expression shifted.
Memory.
Confusion.
Graham continued.
"I put the paper inside your bouquet."
I looked at Rachel.
She looked equally stunned.
Then footsteps approached from the corridor.
Several people.
Thomas called my name.
"Sarah!"
Relief surged through me.
I unlocked the door.
Thomas entered first.
Elaine behind him.
Then Graham Sterling.
Maxwell was nowhere in sight.
"Where is he?" I asked.
Graham looked down the hallway.
"Gone."
"Gone where?"
He faced Chloe.
"To find something."
"What?"
Graham closed the door.
"A flash drive."
Chloe's face drained of color.
I looked between them.
"What flash drive?"
May you like
Graham answered.
"The one containing enough evidence to send my wife and son to prison."
Related Stories
