Chapter 7 - Serena's Price
Serena was gone from the suite by the time police went looking for her.
Her phone went straight to voicemail.
The detective asked Marcus the obvious question.
"Why was your CFO being paid two hundred fifty thousand dollars on your wedding night?"
Marcus stared at the spreadsheet.
"I don't know."
"She's your CFO."
"Not anymore."
"Since when?"
"Since about twenty minutes ago."
No one laughed.
I sat beside my father and read every line I could see.
Payments from Hale Hospitality to a consulting company called SC Advisory.
Serena Cole.
Monthly amounts.
Then larger ones.
Fifty thousand.
Seventy-five thousand.
One hundred thousand.
Dad leaned closer. "That's hush money."
Marcus shook his head. "No. She handled investor relations."
"In hotel rooms?" I asked.
He looked sick.
The detective scrolled farther.
There was an email from Serena to Marcus from three days earlier.
YOU HAVE UNTIL THE WEDDING. AFTER THAT, I TELL DANIELLE EVERYTHING.
Marcus's reply:
LET ME GET THROUGH SATURDAY. I WILL FIX THIS.
I read it twice.
"Fix what?"
He sat down across from me.
"The company is in worse shape than I told you. Harbor Ridge went over budget by almost eight million. We have investors threatening suit. My mother believed your family's commercial property could secure new financing."
"Your mother believed?"
"I did too."
There it was.
No excuse.
No clever wording.
He had looked at my inheritance and seen oxygen.
"Did you marry me for it?"
"No."
"Did knowing about it make marrying me easier?"
His eyes filled with something I had never seen in him before.
Shame.
"I told myself the company would recover and you would never lose anything."
"That isn't an answer."
"I loved you."
"Past tense?"
"I love you."
I stood.
"Love without honesty is just appetite with better marketing."
Tasha's eyebrows lifted.
Marcus looked like I had hit him.
Good.
My phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
A text.
IF YOU WANT THE TRUTH ABOUT THE KISS, COME TO ROOM 1814. ALONE.
A second message followed.
IT WASN'T ABOUT LOVE. IT WAS ABOUT EVIDENCE.
Then a photo appeared.
May you like
Serena standing beside a small black recorder on a hotel desk.
And beside it, a folder with my name.
