Chapter 8 - The Wedding Trucks Arrived Anyway
Marissa called me seventeen times.
I answered the eighteenth.
She was crying.
Not theatrical crying.
Real crying.
The kind that breaks words into pieces.
“He took it.”
“How much?”
“All of it.”
“How much, Marissa?”
“Two hundred and sixty thousand.”
I closed my eyes.
Some belonged to my parents.
Some came from Marissa's savings.
Some apparently came from loans.
Blake had disappeared overnight.
Natalie wasn't surprised.
“He did something similar before,” she said.
Not at this scale.
But the pattern was familiar.
Charm.
Urgency.
Money.
Disappearance.
For one dangerous second, my old instincts returned.
Fix it.
Call people.
Move money.
Save Marissa.
Then I remembered sauce dripping down my face.
Not because I wanted revenge.
Because that moment represented the problem.
I had always prevented Marissa from reaching the natural end of her own decisions.
This time, I would help with information.
Safety.
Attorneys.
But I would not buy her way out.
Marissa asked to come over.
I said no.
“Please.”
“No.”
“I'm your sister.”
“You told me not to expect you to treat me like family.”
“That was before!”
Before consequences.
I almost said it.
Instead:
“You can meet me at Rachel's office.”
She arrived looking nothing like the glamorous woman from dinner.
No makeup.
Hair tied back.
Sweatshirt.
For the first time, she looked younger than me.
She also looked furious.
“How could you let this happen?”
I stared at her.
Rachel immediately interrupted.
“Marissa, we're here to discuss Blake.”
But I raised my hand.
“No. I want to hear this.”
Marissa looked at me.
“You knew he was suspicious.”
“I warned you.”
“You should have done more.”
“Like what?”
“I don't know!”
“Control your relationship?”
She started crying again.
Mom reached for her.
I didn't.
That was difficult.
But necessary.
Then Natalie entered.
Marissa stood.
The two women looked at each other.
Natalie spoke first.
“I’m sorry.”
That disarmed Marissa more effectively than anger.
They sat.
For the next hour, Natalie told us everything.
Blake had lied about businesses.
Debt.
Investments.
Connections.
He had used Natalie's credit before leaving.
He had created companies that existed mostly on paper.
BM Luxury Events fit the pattern.
Then Rachel asked Marissa:
“Did Blake ever ask you to sign Claire's name?”
Marissa froze.
Everyone saw it.
My heartbeat changed.
“Marissa?”
She looked at me.
“No.”
Too fast.
Rachel leaned forward.
“Think carefully.”
“I said no.”
“Did he ever ask you to provide samples of Claire's signature?”
Silence.
My skin went cold.
“Marissa.”
She began crying again.
“I didn't think—”
I stood.
“What did you give him?”
“Claire—”
“What?”
She whispered:
“Your Christmas cards.”
I stared.
“What?”
“He said he needed your signature for the invitation designer.”
I laughed once.
A horrible little sound.
“You gave him samples.”
“I didn't know.”
“But you knew about the venue forms.”
Silence.
“You knew.”
“He said they were temporary.”
“You watched him forge my name?”
“No!”
“Did you know he was signing for me?”
Her face answered.
I stepped away.
Mom whispered, “Claire.”
“Don't.”
Marissa stood.
“I thought you'd agree eventually!”
The same sentence.
Again.
I turned.
“That doesn't make forgery temporary.”
She covered her face.
And for the first time, I saw something beyond entitlement.
Shame.
Real shame.
Maybe that was where change started.
Maybe not.
Either way, it wasn't my job to manufacture it.
Then Rachel's assistant entered.
“There's a problem at the estate.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
“Security says multiple trucks have arrived.”
I looked at Marcus's message.
Rental equipment.
Catering.
Flowers.
A band.
The original vendors had been canceled.
These were different companies.
Booked recently.
Paid through prepaid cards.
And every driver had the same instruction:
Proceed with setup even if property owner objects. Contractual access guaranteed.
Blake had disappeared.
But before leaving, he'd scheduled one final disaster.
Dozens of workers were now converging on my property.
And behind them came cars.
Guests.
May you like
Because despite everything, nobody had told all two hundred people the wedding was over.
---
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