Chapter 4 - The Suite on the Third Floor
The bridal suite on the third floor of the St. Jude manor house was a sprawling apartment of white velvet, gilded mirrors, and crystal decanters. Only an hour earlier, it had been filled with laughter, mimosas, and hair stylists preparing the bride for what was supposed to be the society wedding of the year. Now, the room stood abandoned, smelling heavily of hairspray, expensive floral perfume, and the faint, unmistakable stench of clove cigars.
Julian and I entered the suite, followed by two armed estate security guards whom I had ordered to secure the perimeter. I sat Lily down gently on a plush chaise lounge near the balcony, wrapping a heavy cashmere throw blanket around her shoulders. Clara stayed by her side, holding a glass of apple juice and softly humming an old lullaby to soothe her trembling.
"Where was the box, Lily?" I asked, scanning the chaotic room littered with discarded garment bags and makeup cases.
Lily pointed a small, bruised finger toward the mahogany dressing table in the far corner. "Under the silk skirts of the vanity. She pushed it behind the laundry hamper."
Julian moved immediately, dropping to his knees and shoving aside an overflowing basket of discarded undergarments and tissue paper. He reached deep into the recessed cavity beneath the antique vanity and pulled out a heavy, dark walnut box inlaid with a brass nautical compass.
My throat tightened. I recognized that box instantly. Lucas had bought it during our trip to Maine when we were in our early twenties; he kept his most sacred possessions inside it—his original blueprints, his personal diaries, and the legal documentation he refused to store digitally.
The lock had been crudely forced open with a screwdriver, the brass latch bent and scarred.
"Bring the white leather bag, too," I instructed Julian, pointing to the oversized designer tote resting on the vanity chair.
Julian unzipped the bag and dumped its contents onto the glass coffee table. Several items tumbled out: Brielle’s passport, stacks of bundled hundred-dollar bills totaling at least fifty thousand dollars, a one-way first-class ticket to Zurich departing from JFK at midnight, and a thick manila envelope sealed with red wax.
"Zurich?" Julian muttered, picking up the flight itinerary. "She booked a midnight flight out of New York. Tonight was supposed to be your wedding reception at the Plaza."
"She was never going to stay for the reception," I realized, the cold calculation of her scheme laying itself bare before me. "She needed the marriage certificate signed during the five o'clock ceremony. Once the paperwork was signed by the officiant and filed electronically, she became my legal spouse and joint executor of the Vance estate. Then she was going to vanish with the liquidated assets."
Julian carefully slit the wax seal of the manila envelope using a letter opener from the desk. He pulled out a sheaf of legal documents, his eyes darting across the text with practiced speed. As he read, his expression morphed from professional focus to absolute, unbridled horror.
"Ethan..." Julian’s voice cracked. He looked up at me, his face devoid of color. "This isn't just an estate fraud. Look at this."
He handed me the top document. It was a certified paternity test conducted seven years ago, stamped by a private clinic in Boston.
*Child: Lily Vance. Father: Lucas Vance. Mother: Sarah Linwood.*
Sarah Linwood had been Lucas’s private architectural consultant—a brilliant, quiet woman who had tragically died in a hit-and-run pedestrian accident six years ago. We had all grieved her death, believing it to be a random tragedy in downtown Boston. But Lucas had never told us that Sarah had borne him a daughter.
"Lucas hid her," I whispered, the realization crushing my chest. "He hid Lily to protect her."
"Look at the next page," Julian urged, his hand trembling as he tapped the paper.
The next page was an emergency codicil to Lucas’s will, handwritten in his distinct, hurried scrawl and dated exactly three days before his fatal car crash on Blackwood Ridge:
*'If I die under suspicious circumstances, know that my cousin Marcus Vance and his associate Brielle Sterling have discovered Lily’s existence. Marcus has been siphoning client trust funds through shell companies, and Brielle was his inside liaison at the accounting firm. They threatened to take Lily from me if I went to the federal authorities. I am transferring all legal custody and my fifty-one percent share of the Vance Development holdings directly to my brother, Ethan Vance, in trust for Lily. If Ethan does not know by the time she turns eight, Marcus will use an illegal conservatorship to strip the estate bare. God forgive me for not telling Ethan sooner; they warned me they would kill him next if I spoke.'*
I dropped the paper onto the table, my vision blurring with rage.
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Brielle hadn't met me by chance at that architectural charity gala six months after Lucas died. She hadn't fallen in love with me. She had been sent to finish the job.
***
