Chapter 3 - MY BEST FRIEND'S SECRET MARRIAGEFor several seconds, I couldn't breathe.
Daniel Whitmore.
Jenna Collins.
A marriage certificate.
The man I was supposed to marry in nine days appeared to have married my best friend six months earlier.
I looked at the photograph again.
And again.
Maybe it was fake.
Maybe it had been altered.
Maybe there was some explanation I hadn't considered.
But the expression on Jenna's face looked painfully familiar.
It was the same smile she'd worn when we picked out my engagement ring.
I forwarded the photograph to Michael.
He called immediately.
"Where did you get this?"
"An anonymous number."
"Do you recognize the courthouse?"
"No."
"Don't contact them. We need to verify it."
I could hear him typing.
Michael had always been practical.
When our father died, he'd handled the funeral arrangements while I sat on the porch unable to accept that Dad was gone.
He knew how to stay calm when my world fell apart.
"I'll be there by noon," he said. "I've got someone who can help."
"Who?"
"A lawyer. Her name is Rebecca Shaw."
"Michael, I don't want this becoming some huge scandal."
He was quiet.
"Claire, if that certificate is real, you're already inside a scandal. You just haven't been told about it."
I slept for less than two hours.
At seven the next morning, Daniel arrived at my townhouse carrying coffee and blueberry muffins.
He kissed my cheek.
"Morning, beautiful."
I nearly stepped away.
Instead, I forced myself to smile.
"You're early."
"I wanted to surprise you."
He walked into my kitchen like he belonged there.
Maybe that was the hardest part.
Everything looked normal.
His jacket hanging on the chair.
His favorite coffee mug beside the sink.
His familiar cologne filling the room.
How could somebody feel so much like home while secretly planning to destroy it?
Daniel placed his hands on my shoulders.
"About last night..."
I looked up.
He sighed.
"I got defensive. I'm sorry."
"Why?"
"Because I feel like you're questioning whether I can provide for us."
"You don't need to provide for me."
"Exactly. We're partners."
He brushed my hair away from my cheek.
"That's why I want us to stop separating everything into yours and mine."
I wanted to ask whether Jenna's marriage certificate was also supposed to belong to me.
Instead, I said, "I need a little time."
His smile tightened.
"Claire, the wedding is next Saturday."
"I know."
"Some things need to be signed before then."
There it was.
"What things?"
"Routine documents. Venue insurance, property arrangements, some investment protections."
He reached into his briefcase.
My stomach dropped.
Daniel placed a thick folder on the kitchen counter.
The same agreement I'd discovered online.
Different cover.
Same pages.
"Just sign where I've marked the yellow tabs."
I opened it.
"Shouldn't I have a lawyer review this?"
Daniel laughed.
"Sweetheart, I'm your future husband, not a stranger selling you a used car."
"Still."
His expression hardened.
"Are you saying you don't trust me?"
I looked at the folder.
Then at the man I had once believed would never lie to me.
"I'm saying I'd like to understand what I'm signing."
He snatched the folder back.
"Fine. We'll discuss it later."
He walked toward the door.
Before leaving, he turned around.
"One more thing. Jenna told me you've seemed unusually emotional lately."
I felt my fingernails digging into my palms.
"Did she?"
"She's worried about you."
"How thoughtful."
Daniel frowned.
"Claire, don't be sarcastic. She's practically your sister."
After he left, I sank into a chair.
Practically my sister.
The woman who might already be his wife.
At 10:45 a.m., I drove to a small coffee shop near the Ashley River.
The anonymous sender had given me a table number.
Seventeen.
A young woman sat there with a laptop and a manila envelope.
She appeared to be about twenty-six.
Her blonde hair was pulled into a messy ponytail, and her hands trembled around a paper cup.
"Claire Bennett?"
"Yes."
"I'm Olivia Reed."
She glanced nervously toward the entrance.
"I used to work in accounts payable at Whitmore Properties."
"Why did you contact me?"
Olivia opened the envelope.
"Because I spent eight months helping people steal your money without realizing what was happening."
She slid several documents toward me.
Bank records.
Company invoices.
Copies of wire instructions.
And a photograph of Daniel and Jenna kissing outside a hotel.
My mouth went dry.
"How long?"
Olivia looked miserable.
"At least eight months. Probably longer."
I gripped the edge of the table.
"Tell me everything."
She took a breath.
"Last February, Daniel asked me to establish payment records for a new company. Harbor Crown Holdings. He said it was a joint venture with Jenna."
"Joint venture?"
"At first, yes. Then I noticed your name on transfer authorizations."
"I never signed them."
"I know that now."
Olivia explained that she'd found irregularities while reconciling accounts.
She had questioned Daniel.
The following week, she was fired.
"He told me I was making serious accusations without evidence."
"Why didn't you report it?"
"I tried. The company's attorney said everything had been approved by the account holders."
"Approved by me?"
She nodded.
I felt sick.
Olivia pushed another page across the table.
"This is why I decided to contact you."
It was a notarized statement.
A marriage certificate from a courthouse in Savannah, Georgia.
The document listed Daniel and Jenna as husband and wife.
The date was April 18.
Six months earlier.
"How could he marry Jenna when he was engaged to me?"
Olivia hesitated.
"There's something else."
She took out another photograph.
Daniel stood beside Jenna inside a beautiful house overlooking the water.
A real estate agent was handing them keys.
"They bought this property in May," Olivia said.
"With my money?"
"Partly. The purchase was financed through Harbor Crown. Some of the funds appear connected to your accounts."
I stared at the enormous waterfront home.
I recognized it.
Daniel had shown me pictures months earlier.
He said it was a property his company was preparing to renovate.
He'd even joked that it might be our dream home someday.
"Who lives there?"
Olivia looked down.
"Jenna."
My chest tightened.
"And Daniel?"
"Most nights."
The coffee shop seemed to tilt around me.
Every late meeting.
Every last-minute business trip.
Every time Jenna canceled dinner because she was supposedly sick.
I thought about Christmas Eve.
Daniel had left our family gathering early because of an emergency at work.
Jenna hadn't come because she claimed to have food poisoning.
Now I knew where they'd probably been.
Together.
"Why would they still go through with my wedding?" I whispered.
Olivia's eyes filled with tears.
"Because Daniel's company is in trouble."
She explained that Whitmore Properties had accumulated enormous debt.
Projects had stalled.
Investors were demanding repayment.
Daniel had concealed the extent of the losses from his family.
"He needs your inheritance to finish a property transaction and satisfy his lenders."
"But he's already stolen almost a hundred and fifty thousand dollars."
"That isn't enough."
"Why marry me?"
Olivia swallowed.
"Because of the trust documents your father left behind."
I stared at her.
"My father?"
She nodded.
"There's a clause in one of the older documents. Daniel believes marriage will make it easier for him to gain control over property connected to your trust."
"That's not how trusts work."
"I know. But he's been preparing paperwork to make it look like you've consented."
She hesitated again.
"And there's something even worse."
I waited.
"Jenna has been telling Daniel that you're mentally unstable."
A chill ran through me.
"What?"
"She's been documenting imaginary incidents. Panic attacks. Confusion. Missing appointments. She says your grief over your father never improved."
I thought about the bridal shop.
The dress.
The deliberate humiliation.
It suddenly made sense.
If they could make me appear irrational at my own wedding, perhaps people would believe whatever story came afterward.
Olivia opened her laptop.
"Daniel instructed Jenna to collect evidence that you couldn't manage your own finances."
"Evidence of what?"
"Public breakdowns. Erratic behavior. Anything that would make people question your judgment."
My voice cracked.
"They wanted me to fall apart."
Olivia nodded.
"Especially during the wedding."
I pressed my fingers against my forehead.
Then I asked the question that mattered most.
"Why are you helping me?"
Olivia looked at her hands.
"My mother lost everything when my father forged documents using her name. I know what financial abuse looks like."
She pushed a flash drive toward me.
"These are copies of the records I retained before I was fired. I don't know whether they'll be enough. But they might help."
I took it.
"Thank you."
She shook her head.
"Don't thank me yet."
Her phone buzzed.
She looked at the screen.
The color drained from her face.
"What is it?"
She turned the phone toward me.
A message from an unknown number.
We know you're meeting Claire. Walk away now, or your mother loses her house.
I looked toward the coffee shop window.
Across the street sat a black SUV.
Its engine was running.
Olivia followed my gaze.
"Oh, God."
The driver's window lowered.
And I recognized the man behind the wheel.
It was Daniel's father.
Richard Whitmore.
May you like
The man who had called me his daughter for four years.
And he was watching us.
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