Chapter 2 - The Marriage That Wasn't a Marriage
The second photograph wasn't romantic.
There were no champagne glasses.
No wedding rings.
No smiling sister.
Trevor was sitting across from a heavyset man at a casino restaurant. Between them lay several sheets of paper.
Deputy Ruiz pointed to the documents.
"We believe those are copies of your corporate holding records."
My mouth went dry.
Those documents had never been public.
Whitmore Holdings owned approximately nineteen million dollars in combined real estate, securities, and business-related assets.
"How did he get them?"
"We were hoping you could tell us."
I couldn't.
Ruiz explained that the detained officiant, Marcus Dale, had been arranging fraudulent or improperly documented ceremonies for clients who wanted photographs and paperwork without standard verification.
Trevor had contacted him weeks earlier.
But the wedding wasn't the first conversation.
Trevor wanted documents that could create the appearance that his relationship with me had already legally ended.
Then, after marrying Hailey, he planned to claim I had concealed the dissolution while improperly denying him access to marital property.
It was legally ridiculous.
But Trevor wasn't trying to win cleanly.
He was trying to create chaos.
Chaos expensive enough that I might pay him to disappear.
"There's more," Ruiz said.
There always is.
Trevor had apparently promised Marcus twenty-five thousand dollars if he could provide backdated documentation.
My husband had tried to manufacture a divorce.
Then marry my sister.
Then use the conflicting records as leverage against me.
I should have been furious.
Instead, one question consumed me.
"Does Hailey know?"
Ruiz folded her hands.
"We don't know."
My phone vibrated.
HAILEY.
For the first time, I answered.
"Claire?"
Her voice was shaking.
Not crying.
Shaking.
"Where are you?"
"Vegas."
"Where's Trevor?"
Silence.
Then I heard her whisper:
"I don't know."
Deputy Ruiz watched me.
"What happened?"
Hailey breathed rapidly.
"He left."
"When?"
"Maybe an hour ago."
"Why?"
"I woke up and he was gone. His suitcase is gone."
Of course.
"What did you expect?"
"Claire, please."
"No. You married my husband."
"He said you were divorcing!"
My fingers tightened.
There it was.
"He told me you signed papers six weeks ago. He showed them to me."
Ruiz immediately leaned forward.
I put the phone on speaker.
"What papers?"
"Divorce papers."
Deputy Ruiz wrote something down.
"Did you read them?"
"No. Trevor said his attorney handled everything."
"And you believed him?"
Hailey began crying.
"He said you didn't want anyone to know until after your acquisition closed because it might affect the company."
That was exactly plausible enough to manipulate someone who understood almost nothing about my business.
"Hailey," I said. "Trevor and I are not divorced."
Silence.
Then:
"What?"
"We never filed."
Her breathing stopped.
"I married him."
"No. You participated in a fraudulent ceremony arranged by a man currently being questioned by Nevada authorities."
She made a strangled sound.
"Claire..."
"Did Trevor ask you to sign anything else?"
Silence.
Deputy Ruiz and I exchanged looks.
"Hailey."
"Yes."
"What?"
"He said it was a prenup."
My blood turned cold.
"What did you sign?"
"I don't know."
"Send me photographs."
"I don't have it."
"Who does?"
"Trevor."
Deputy Ruiz mouthed two words.
Find him.
But Trevor had already realized his plan was collapsing.
And men like Trevor rarely ran without taking something valuable with them.
I hurried upstairs.
My office looked untouched.
Desk.
Safe.
Cabinets.
Then I saw the bottom drawer.
Slightly open.
I never left it open.
Inside should have been an encrypted backup drive containing archived holding-company records.
It was gone.
So was an old notarized copy of my signature authorization sheet.
My stomach dropped.
Trevor hadn't fled Vegas empty-handed.
He had prepared his escape before he ever sent that photograph.
And somewhere between California and Nevada, my husband possessed the one thing he needed to attempt the most dangerous part of his plan.
May you like
My signature.
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