Chapter 2 - The Man He Called a Thief
There was no hesitation on the other end.
“Are you safe?”
Not what happened.
Not why are you calling.
That question nearly brought me to my knees.
“Yes,” I said. “I’m at the marina.”
“Your wedding.”
“Not anymore.”
A brief silence.
Then Adrian Shaw said, “Tell me what you need.”
Collin reached for my phone.
My father caught his wrist.
It was not dramatic. Dad simply stopped him, looked at his hand, and waited until Collin withdrew it.
I walked toward the end of the dock.
“Did you steal from Prescott Coastal?”
“No.”
“Can you prove it?”
“Yes.”
My heart began beating harder.
“Why didn’t you?”
“I tried. Your father received a settlement summary prepared by their counsel. My own records were tied up in a dispute over company property. By the time I could produce an independent accounting, you had asked me not to contact you.”
I closed my eyes.
I remembered that conversation.
Collin had stood behind my chair while I typed the message. He said Adrian was obsessed with me. That his accusations were revenge because I had chosen Collin.
I had believed him because the alternative required admitting how much I had already ignored.
“Where are you?”
“Balboa. Ten minutes away.”
“Come here.”
“I’m leaving now.”
Behind me, Collin said, “He can’t save the agreement.”
I ended the call and turned.
“I didn’t ask him to.”
My father’s gaze sharpened.
“What agreement did Adrian want you to see?”
Collin answered before I could.
“Andrew, please. He has been trying to damage us since we removed him.”
“Then the records should clear you,” Dad said.
Richard Prescott finally stepped out from beneath the canopy.
Collin’s father wore a navy suit and the offended expression of a man accustomed to other people apologizing first.
“We should move this indoors.”
“No,” my mother said.
Everyone looked at her.
Helen Keene rarely interrupted anyone. She had spent decades being the gracious woman beside the man at the negotiating table.
Now she stood holding my abandoned bouquet like something she might throw.
“My daughter was humiliated here. You can explain yourselves here.”
Richard glanced toward the guests.
“Business matters are confidential.”
“Then stop discussing them with the entire wedding party,” Dad said.
He turned to our general counsel, Elena Ruiz, who was already approaching with her tablet.
“Confirm the deadline.”
Elena checked the agreement.
“The ceremonial closing provision expires at ten ten. The underlying operating companies remain separate. Any new arrangement would require fresh approvals.”
“And if we do nothing?”
“The proposed venture lapses.”
Richard’s mouth tightened.
“We have obligations based on this transaction.”
Dad looked directly at him.
“Then you should have protected it.”
The clock changed.
10:10.
Nobody shouted.
No alarm sounded.
The harbor remained beautiful.
A gull landed on a piling, and somewhere beyond the marina a boat engine sputtered to life.
Fourteen months of negotiation ended in the space between one breath and another.
Collin stared at me.
“You really did it.”
For one sick second, his disappointment still reached the part of me trained to fix everything.
Then I looked at Brynn standing beside him in her white dress.
“No,” I said. “I stopped doing it.”
Dad asked the wedding coordinator to open the brunch service for the guests and arrange transportation for anyone who wanted to leave. Mom asked the photographer to stop working.
Practical things.
Gentle things.
The world did not collapse because I refused to marry the wrong man.
Eleven minutes later, Adrian appeared at the marina gate.
He wore dark jeans, a white shirt with the sleeves rolled, and the expression of someone who had driven carefully because arriving alive mattered more than arriving impressively.
He stopped a few feet away.
His eyes moved over my dress, my bare left hand, my face.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
I shook my head.
“Please don’t make me cry yet.”
“Okay.”
He took off his jacket and held it out without draping it over me like I belonged to him.
I put it on myself.
Collin approached.
“If you think you can walk in here and take what’s mine—”
Adrian looked past him, directly at me.
“Do you want him near you?”
“No.”
“Then we can leave.”
I had spent three years being told what I should tolerate.
The simplicity of being asked what I wanted felt almost unbearable.
Before we moved, Adrian turned to my father.
“Mr. Keene, there’s something you need to see before you sign anything else with that family.”
Richard Prescott went very still.
May you like
Adrian opened the folder beneath his arm.
“The missing money,” he said, “was never missing.”
