Chapter 3 - The Envelope
I hit the table hard enough to rattle the coffee cups.
"Kill the device."
Helen's hands flew across her keyboard.
"I'm revoking the certificate now."
The security alert vanished.
Then another appeared.
REMOTE WIPE REQUEST DENIED.
"What does that mean?" Claire asked.
"Someone changed the management permissions," Helen said. "Whoever has that device has administrator-level access."
Martin turned to me.
"That narrows it."
"To who?"
"People who could persuade IT to make an exception without leaving much noise."
My phone vibrated again.
STOP LOOKING became a new message.
YOU ARE HURTING CLAIRE.
I held the phone out so everyone could see it.
Claire read it and went still.
Samuel swore under his breath.
"Police need that number."
"It's spoofed," Martin said. "Still worth preserving."
The conference-room door opened.
A hotel security manager stepped in.
"Mr. Whitmore, we pulled hallway footage from the bridal floor. Your daughter should see this."
He placed a tablet on the table.
At 10:06 that morning, Brent stepped out of an elevator carrying a garment bag.
He looked left, right, then entered Claire's room using a keycard.
Claire's face tightened.
"How did he get a key?"
"We're investigating that."
The footage jumped ahead.
Brent came out six minutes later without the garment bag.
He was carrying Claire's laptop case.
"He stole it," I said.
"No." Claire shook her head. "It was back in my room when I returned."
Samuel looked at her.
"Then he searched it."
Claire stared at the USB on the table.
"He was looking for this."
I turned toward her.
"You said you found the records yourself."
"I found some of them."
"Some?"
She rubbed both hands down the front of her dress.
"Three weeks ago, an envelope showed up at my house. No return address. Inside were printouts, two audio files, and a note telling me to check Dad's family investment companies."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I didn't know who sent it. And because every time I mentioned Vanessa, you looked at me like I was trying to punish you for moving on after Mom."
I opened my mouth.
Nothing useful came out.
Claire reached into her purse and removed a folded plastic evidence sleeve.
Inside was a cream envelope.
"I kept it."
Martin slid on a pair of hotel kitchen gloves rather than touch it bare-handed.
He examined the front.
Printed label. No postage mark. It had been hand-delivered.
Samuel leaned over his shoulder.
"Anything distinctive?"
Claire frowned.
"It smelled weird when I got it."
"Like what?"
She closed her eyes.
"Cedar."
Samuel straightened.
The movement was small.
I noticed anyway.
"What?" I asked.
"Nothing."
"You reacted."
"My grandfather had a cedar chest. That's all."
Martin opened the sleeve and tipped out the note.
One line.
CHECK THE TUESDAYS.
Claire took another paper from her purse.
"There was a second note two days later."
"You did not tell me that."
"I was trying to find out whether the first one was real."
She handed it to me.
The letters were typed in the same plain font.
LET YOUR FATHER MARRY HER OR YOU'LL NEVER KNOW WHO STARTED THIS.
I read it twice.
My pulse beat in my fingertips.
Samuel moved toward the window.
"Whoever sent that wanted access to the wedding."
"Or wanted the wedding to happen," Claire said.
A police officer knocked once and entered.
"Mr. Whitmore, we are ready to take statements."
I barely heard him.
I looked through the glass wall toward the ballroom entrance, where staff were removing white roses from the aisle.
Someone had warned Claire about Vanessa.
Someone had given her evidence.
And that same person had ordered her not to stop the ceremony.
I folded the note in my hand.
May you like
Someone wanted me at the altar.
