Chapter 4 - The Empty Chair
I ran.
Not gracefully.
Not like a bride in photographs.
I gathered six thousand dollars of white lace in both fists and ran down the hotel corridor while Marcus shouted my name behind me.
The service elevator opened on the ballroom level.
Music was still playing.
Two hundred guests were still pretending nothing was wrong.
My father's chair sat empty at the head table.
His jacket hung over the back.
His phone was inside the pocket.
That scared me more than anything.
Dad never went anywhere without his phone.
Tasha met me beside the catering doors.
"Security pulled hallway footage. Lorraine took him toward the executive conference rooms."
Lorraine Hale.
My new mother-in-law.
The woman who had spent the last year calling me the daughter she never had.
Marcus arrived behind me.
"Mom probably needed his signature on something."
I turned so fast he stopped.
"You knew?"
"No."
"You knew there was paperwork."
"I knew our attorneys were finalizing documents."
"On my wedding night?"
He lowered his voice. "Keep your voice down."
I almost slapped him.
Instead, I smiled.
It frightened him more.
"Your biggest concern right now is whether our guests hear me?"
He looked around.
There it was.
Image first.
Always image first.
Tasha touched my elbow. "Come on."
We crossed the back hallway and reached Conference Room C.
Locked.
I knocked once.
"Dad?"
Nothing.
Marcus swiped his hotel key.
Red light.
Tasha flagged a security guard.
"Open it."
The guard hesitated. "Ma'am, I need authorization."
"My father may be inside."
Marcus said, "Do it."
The guard opened the door.
The room was empty.
A water bottle sat on the table.
So did a black leather folder.
I opened it.
Inside was a notarized document transferring temporary voting authority over my trust's commercial assets.
The signature at the bottom looked like my father's.
But one thing was wrong.
Dad signed his middle initial with a sharp upward stroke because of an old hand injury.
This signature was smooth.
Perfect.
Fake.
Tasha whispered, "Oh my God."
Marcus looked genuinely shocked.
For the first time that night, I believed his reaction.
Then we heard a sound behind the dividing wall.
A dull thump.
I moved toward it.
Another thump.
The security guard found a narrow storage door hidden beside the curtains.
He pulled it open.
My father was sitting on the floor inside, furious and pale, with his wrists loosely bound by a silk necktie.
"Dad!"
I dropped beside him.
He looked past me at Marcus.
"Get him away from my daughter."
Marcus went still.
Dad pointed at the leather folder.
"They tried to make me sign that."
"Who?"
May you like
My father breathed hard.
"His mother wasn't alone."
