Chapter 3 - THE WEDDING THAT NEVER HAPPENEDThere are moments in a man’s life when everything he believed about himself gets stripped away.
At sixty-two, I believed I was difficult to manipulate.
I had built Prescott Systems from a rented warehouse into an engineering company with eleven thousand employees. I had negotiated acquisitions against people who made deception into an art form. I could look across a boardroom table and know when a CEO was hiding debt before his own accountants knew it.
Yet Florence had slept beside me for more than a year.
She had eaten breakfast across from me.
Held me when I dreamed about Anne.
Helped pick flowers for the wedding.
And somehow, I had never truly seen her.
Until now.
“Open the door,” Florence pleaded.
I looked at Daniel.
He shook his head.
I called the New Hampshire State Police myself.
The dispatcher transferred me twice.
Eventually, an officer confirmed that a vehicle registered to Caroline Prescott had been discovered shortly after seven that morning on a wooded road fifteen miles from my lake house.
The vehicle had struck a guardrail.
No driver had been found.
There was blood inside.
“How much?”
The officer hesitated.
“I’m not authorized to discuss details over the phone.”
“My daughter is missing.”
“We have officers searching the area.”
“Was there enough blood to suggest she couldn’t have walked away?”
Another pause.
“No, sir. Nothing has been determined.”
I closed my eyes.
Not dead.
Nothing had been determined.
That was something.
I asked them to contact Boston police because Leo claimed to have witnessed his mother being taken.
The moment I mentioned possible kidnapping, the tone changed.
Names were requested.
Descriptions.
Addresses.
Daniel began providing information.
Meanwhile, I faced another problem.
One hundred and fourteen people sat twenty yards away believing they were about to watch a wedding.
Among them was Charles Whitmore.
If Caroline was right, Charles was involved.
If he learned that I knew, he could warn whoever had Caroline.
I needed to keep everyone inside.
So I did something Florence never expected.
I opened the door.
She nearly fell forward.
Her maid of honor stood several feet behind her, along with the wedding coordinator.
Florence stared past me toward the laptop.
I moved into the hallway and closed the door behind me.
“Where did you hear about Caroline’s car?”
“My cousin called.”
“Which cousin?”
She blinked.
“Eleanor.”
“Eleanor who?”
“You’ve met Eleanor.”
“No, I haven’t.”
Her expression tightened.
“She lives near the lake.”
“I thought your family was from Connecticut.”
“Jonathan, this isn’t the time.”
“You said the police called.”
“I—”
“You just said Eleanor called.”
She stared at me.
A practiced liar recognizes the exact second a story collapses.
Florence’s eyes changed.
Then she touched my chest.
“Sweetheart, you’re terrified. I am too.”
“Who told you about the car?”
“I don’t remember exactly. Everything happened so quickly.”
“Interesting.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means we’re postponing the ceremony.”
Her hand dropped.
“No.”
It was the first completely honest thing she had said.
I almost smiled.
“No?”
“We have a hundred people waiting.”
“My daughter is missing.”
“Which is exactly why we shouldn’t overreact until we know what happened.”
I stared at her.
“My daughter may have been abducted.”
“And she may have walked away from the accident and be sitting in some hospital without identification.”
“She had identification.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know my daughter.”
Florence stepped closer.
“And I know what she’s been doing to us.”
There it was.
The pivot.
Not concern.
Not fear.
Caroline was suddenly the problem.
“She has hated me from the beginning,” Florence continued. “She has investigated me, followed me, hired people to spy on me—”
“So you knew she was following you?”
Silence.
Florence realized the mistake too late.
“I suspected.”
“How?”
“She asked strange questions.”
“About Marcus?”
The blood drained from her face.
That was all the confirmation I needed.
Florence recovered quickly.
“Marcus is my cousin.”
“No.”
I stepped closer.
“He’s your husband.”
Her lips parted.
Behind her, the maid of honor gasped.
Florence turned toward her.
“Leave us.”
“Florence—”
“Now!”
The woman hurried away.
I watched Florence’s posture change.
The sweet bride vanished.
In her place stood someone colder.
“You don’t understand.”
“Then explain.”
“Marcus and I separated years ago.”
“No divorce.”
“Paperwork.”
“Seven years of paperwork?”
“I thought it had been finalized.”
“You were photographed with him four days ago.”
Florence looked toward the lounge door.
“What did Caroline give you?”
I said nothing.
“The USB?”
Still nothing.
“I saw it, Jonathan.”
“I know.”
Her face hardened.
“She has been building a fantasy for months.”
“She recorded you.”
For the first time, Florence truly lost control.
“What?”
“Your conversations with Marcus.”
“What conversations?”
“The ones about getting me to sign something after the wedding.”
She went silent.
I leaned close.
“Where is my daughter?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where is Caroline?”
“I said I don’t know.”
“And if you’re lying?”
Her eyes flashed.
“You think threatening me is going to help?”
“That wasn’t a threat.”
“What was it?”
“A promise that I’m not signing another document you put in front of me.”
Something flickered across her face.
Panic again.
Not about the wedding.
About documents.
I suddenly remembered.
Charles had arranged for us to sign a “routine marital estate confirmation” immediately after the ceremony.
He said it simplified the prenup.
Florence had insisted we handle it before leaving for our honeymoon.
My stomach turned.
“What was I signing today?”
Florence looked confused.
“At the reception?”
“With Charles.”
“I have no idea.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not.”
“You’re a terrible liar when you’re scared.”
Her face twisted.
“You didn’t think so yesterday.”
That landed.
She knew it.
For a second, I saw satisfaction in her expression.
Then she realized she had shown too much.
I stepped away.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For finally letting me meet you.”
I walked toward the ballroom.
She followed.
“Jonathan.”
I kept moving.
“You cannot do this.”
“I already did.”
“If you humiliate me in front of those people—”
I stopped.
“What?”
She looked around.
Hotel employees were watching.
Guests had begun appearing near the ballroom doors.
Florence lowered her voice.
“You’re going to regret making an enemy of me.”
That sentence ended the wedding.
Completely.
I entered the ballroom.
The quartet stopped playing.
One hundred and fourteen faces turned toward me.
White flowers covered the room.
Candles glowed across round tables.
At the far end, beneath an arch covered in roses, the officiant waited.
Charles Whitmore sat in the front row.
When he saw me alone, his smile faltered.
I walked to the microphone.
“Ladies and gentlemen.”
Whispers died.
“I apologize for keeping you waiting.”
Florence appeared behind me.
Several guests applauded, assuming the ceremony was beginning.
I looked toward Charles.
He slowly rose.
“Jonathan?”
I ignored him.
“There will be no wedding today.”
The room erupted.
Florence pushed past me.
“Jonathan is upset because of a family emergency.”
“Yes,” I said.
“She’s right.”
That surprised her.
I continued.
“My daughter Caroline is missing.”
The room went silent.
“My grandson has provided information that has caused me to contact law enforcement.”
Charles moved toward me.
“We should discuss this privately.”
“No.”
He stopped.
I looked directly at him.
“I think we’ve had enough private discussions.”
His face changed.
Very slightly.
Enough.
Florence grabbed my arm.
“We need to leave.”
I pulled away.
“No, Florence. You need to stay.”
“Why?”
Because police were already coming.
But I wasn’t going to tell her that.
Instead, I looked toward the guests.
“Everyone, please remain calm. Hotel staff will help you—”
Florence turned and ran.
Not walked.
Ran.
Daniel emerged from the side hallway.
“Stop her!”
Charles moved in the opposite direction.
That was when I knew.
I pointed.
“Him too.”
Charles knocked over a chair and disappeared through a service door.
Guests screamed.
Florence kicked off her heels and sprinted toward the lobby.
I followed.
She reached the elevators.
Pressed the button.
Again.
Again.
Then she saw me approaching.
“Stay away from me!”
“Where’s Caroline?”
“You’re insane!”
“Where is she?”
The elevator doors opened.
Florence stepped inside.
I caught the edge before the doors closed.
For a moment, we stood three feet apart.
No music.
No wedding guests.
No performance.
Just the two of us.
“You loved me,” she said.
“I loved who you pretended to be.”
Her eyes hardened.
“You have no idea what Caroline has done.”
“Then tell me.”
“She should have minded her own business.”
The doors began closing again.
I pushed them apart.
“What did you do to her?”
Florence smiled.
A tiny smile.
“You should worry less about Caroline.”
My blood chilled.
“What does that mean?”
“You should worry about Leo.”
I spun around.
The lounge door was open.
Daniel was gone.
Leo was gone.
I ran.
“Leo!”
Nothing.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
A man spoke.
“Mr. Prescott?”
“Yes.”
“If you want to see your daughter and grandson alive, get in your car.”
My knees nearly failed.
“Who is this?”
“You already know.”
Marcus Vale.
“Where is Leo?”
“Safe for now.”
“What do you want?”
There was a pause.
Then he said:
“You were supposed to get married today, Jonathan.”
Behind me, the elevator doors closed.
Florence was gone.
Marcus continued.
“And one way or another…”
May you like
His voice lowered.
“…you’re still going to sign those papers.”
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