[COMPLETED] The Night Before My Wedding, His Best Man Told Me Everything

Nobody spoke for several seconds.

I knew my own signature.

The curve of the C.

The way the second t in Whitaker leaned too far right.

The signature on the deed was excellent.

It was also wrong.

My real signature connected the final e and r. The forged one did not.

“Where did this come from?” Hannah asked.

“I don’t know.”

Mason took the page carefully by the edges.

“This is a copy. We need the recording information from the register of deeds.”

Ethan shook his head. “That isn’t mine.”

I stared at him.

“You expect me to believe that?”

“I have never seen that document.”

“Your company is the grantee.”

“That doesn’t mean I filed it.”

“Who else would?”

“Rachel.”

The answer came too easily.

Mason’s mouth hardened.

“Of course.”

Ethan pointed at the deed. “She has access to every corporate document. She knows Claire’s parcel information. She built Laurel Ridge.”

“And you own sixty percent.”

“I am telling you she did this.”

He looked at me for a long moment.

Then at Mason.

Something passed between them, old and ugly.

Ethan walked out.

Mason waited until the door closed.

“Lock it.”

Hannah did.

I sat on the edge of the bed, still holding the forged deed.

My wedding dress moved slightly in the draft from the window.

It looked like it belonged to someone else.

The bad news was that a lender had filed a notice referencing Laurel Ridge Holdings and my parcel two weeks earlier.

A financing statement.

The amount secured was listed as $4.8 million.

My hands started shaking again.

“Can they do that without owning the land?” I asked.

“People can file all kinds of things,” the attorney said. “Whether they are enforceable is another question. But this is serious. Do not sign anything. Do not communicate with the lender. I’ll be at the lodge by eight.”

We ended the call.

Hannah made coffee.

At 4:11 a.m., someone began pounding on the suite door.

Not knocking.

Pounding.

Hannah nearly dropped her mug.

Mason reached the door first.

“Who?”

A woman’s voice answered.

“Rachel.”

Every muscle in my body tightened.

Mason opened the door only a few inches.

Rachel Mercer stood in the hallway.

I had met her twice before.

Both times she had been immaculate: tailored dresses, smooth blonde hair, perfect makeup, the kind of composure that made people sit straighter.

Now her hair was wet.

Her coat was torn at one shoulder.

A thin line of dried blood ran from her temple toward her jaw.

“Let me in,” she said.

Mason did not move.

“What happened?”

“Ethan.”

My stomach dropped.

Mason opened the door.

Rachel entered quickly and looked at me.

“I know you hate me.”

“I haven’t decided what I feel about you.”

“Fair.”

She sat in the chair near the fireplace and pressed a tissue to her temple.

Hannah stared at her.

“Were you stranded?”

Rachel closed her eyes.

“No.”

The honesty hurt more than another lie.

“I called him because he had stopped answering me,” she said. “I told him my car was off the road because I knew he would come if he thought I was scared.”

“You staged an emergency the night before our wedding.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

She looked at me.

“Because I found out yesterday that he filed financing documents using your land.”

I held up the forged deed.

Her face changed.

“Where did you get that?”

“It was delivered here.”

Rachel stood.

“That is not the version I drafted.”

“You drafted one?”

“A legitimate transfer agreement. Months ago. Ethan told me you were considering contributing the land to the company.”

“I was not.”

“I know that now.”

The room went cold.

“You believed him?”

“For too long.”

“What did he promise you?”

Her eyes dropped.

“Forty percent.”

“I know.”

“And something else.”

Mason leaned against the desk.

“What?”

Rachel looked at him.

Then at me.

“He promised Laurel Ridge would repay money I lost because of him.”

“What money?”

She swallowed.

“Two years ago, Ethan convinced me to invest in a hotel project in Tennessee. I put in most of my savings. The project never existed.”

I stared.

“He stole from you?”

“He called it a failed deal. I believed him until three months ago.”

“What happened three months ago?”

“I found the account the money went into.”

She reached into her coat.

Mason’s hand moved subtly.

Rachel noticed.

“It’s paper.”

She pulled out a folded bank statement.

The receiving account belonged to a company I had never heard of.

Voss Capital Partners.

Mason’s face changed.

Not fear exactly.

Recognition.

Rachel saw it.

“You know them.”

Mason did not answer.

She continued.

“Ethan owes Voss more than six million dollars. Laurel Ridge was supposed to pay part of it. Your land was supposed to secure the loan.”

My throat tightened.

“Why did he owe them?”

“I don’t know. He wouldn’t tell me.”

“What happened tonight?”

“I met him at a storage unit where he keeps project files. I told him I had copied everything and that I would go to you unless he stopped the closing.”

She touched the cut on her temple.

“He grabbed the drive. I fought him. I hit the shelving. Then he took the red folder and left.”

The photograph.

His hand around her wrist.

The red folder.

“Did he get the drive?”

Rachel’s eyes met mine.

“No.”

“Where is it?”

She looked toward Mason.

“That’s the problem.”

“What problem?”