Ten Minutes Before I Married Her 1494

I pushed open the interview-room door before the detective could stop me.

Vanessa sat at a small table with her wedding dress pooled around the chair.

Her veil was gone.

So was the performance.

"Who sent Claire the envelope?" I asked.

The detective behind me said, "Mr. Whitmore, you cannot question -"

"Give us sixty seconds."

Vanessa looked at him.

"I want him here."

The detective hesitated, then stayed by the door.

I placed the typed note in front of her.

Her eyes moved once across the sentence.

No surprise.

"You have seen that wording before," I said.

"No."

"You didn't blink."

"Maybe I ran out of tears between the canceled wedding and the felony accusations."

I leaned over the table.

"Two-point-three million dollars. My digital signature. Claire assaulted. My grandson frightened enough to hide behind chairs. I am done asking politely."

Her fingers tightened around the edge of the table.

"I did not touch Noah."

"You hit his mother."

"She grabbed me."

"Who helped you?"

Vanessa stared at the wall.

I pulled out my phone and played the recording from Claire's USB.

Her own voice filled the room.

"Once Richard signs after the wedding, Claire can scream all she wants."

Vanessa's jaw flexed.

"I was angry."

"You were discussing my company."

"Brent said the documents were legal."

"You expect me to believe your brother moved millions of dollars and you thought it was paperwork?"

"I knew money was being moved. I did not know about the fraud trail."

The detective shifted near the door.

Vanessa looked at him, then back at me.

"Brent told me we were protecting assets before the marriage. He said your daughter would challenge the estate."

"Who told Brent?"

She said nothing.

I turned the phone so she could see the video.

The frame showed Vanessa in my office with Brent.

Behind them, reflected in the glass door, was the shape of a man standing in the hallway.

Vanessa leaned forward.

Her face lost color.

"Pause it."

I did.

"Who is that?"

"I don't know."

"You know something."

She reached for the phone.

I pulled it away.

"That night, Brent and I thought we were alone."

"You were in my house."

"Your adviser said the cameras were off."

The detective stepped forward.

"Adviser?"

Vanessa pressed both hands against her forehead.

"I never got a real name."

"How did you communicate?" I asked.

"Encrypted messages. Burner phones. Sometimes Brent met him."

"Where?"

"Parking garages. A storage facility. Once at your country club."

My pulse jumped.

"Which room?"

"I don't know. Brent said the man knew the club better than the staff."

The detective wrote fast.

"Description?"

Vanessa shook her head.

"He never met me face-to-face. He knew too much about Richard. His schedule. His medication. What documents he kept at home. What he would sign without reading if he was angry."

My skin tightened across my shoulders.

"What I would sign?"

Vanessa looked at me.

"After the wedding. There was supposed to be one more document."

"What document?"

"Brent called it the safety net."

My phone rang.

The estate manager's name flashed across the screen.

I answered.

"Tom?"

His voice came fast.

"Mr. Whitmore, the west-wing alarm triggered, then shut itself off."