Chapter 4 - Page Twenty-Three
Ethan read the clause three times.
Then he whispered, “I didn’t know she was the fiduciary.”
I felt something inside me twist.
“You signed it.”
“I know, but Martin told me it was a neutral family office.”
“Martin is your parents’ attorney.”
“He’s also mine.”
“Exactly.”
Ethan looked sick.
Outside the door, Vivian’s voice stayed calm.
“Ethan, people are asking where you are.”
He didn’t answer.
I pointed toward the bathroom. “Is there another exit?”
“A service corridor.”
Rachel opened the door inside the bathroom and found a narrow hallway used by the venue staff.
Ethan looked at me. “Where are we going?”
“To find the glass.”
“Claire—”
“If it’s harmless, great. Then I’ll apologize to your mother.”
He nodded.
“If it isn’t?”
I held his gaze.
“Then we stop pretending this is a wedding problem.”
The three of us moved through the service corridor.
We found the waiter who had taken my flute near the dish station.
He looked nervous the moment he saw Ethan.
“My wife’s champagne glass,” Ethan said. “Where is it?”
The waiter swallowed. “Mrs. Whitmore told me to clear it.”
“Where?”
“I dumped it.”
My chest sank.
“Into the sink?”
He shook his head.
“Into a bus tub.”
Rachel rushed toward the tubs.
Dozens of glasses.
Some empty.
Some half full.
Ethan cursed under his breath.
“Which one?”
The waiter pointed uncertainly. “I don’t know.”
I looked at his name tag.
“Luis, did my mother-in-law tell you anything else?”
He hesitated.
Ethan stepped closer. “Tell us.”
Luis’s face tightened.
“She said if anyone asked, the bride had been drinking too fast.”
A silence fell between us.
Ethan’s jaw clenched.
“She said that?”
Luis nodded.
“And she gave me five hundred dollars.”
He reached into his pocket and handed Ethan five crisp bills.
Rachel exhaled. “That’s preparation.”
Ethan turned away.
I could see the moment denial began breaking apart inside him.
Then Luis said, “There’s something else.”
We all looked at him.
“Before Mrs. Whitmore spoke to me, another man came through the kitchen.”
“What man?”
“Older. Glasses. Gray tie.”
Ethan went still.
“Martin Cole?”
Luis nodded. “I think that was the name someone used.”
The family attorney.
Rachel whispered, “Why would the lawyer be in the kitchen?”
Luis pointed toward the hall.
“He was carrying a folder. He gave it to Mrs. Whitmore.”
“What kind of folder?” I asked.
“Cream colored.”
Ethan and I looked at each other.
I knew that folder.
I had seen the exact same one on the table when I signed the prenup.
May you like
And suddenly page twenty-three no longer looked like legal boilerplate.
It looked like a trap prepared before I ever walked down the aisle.
