Chapter 5 - The Honeymoon Reservation
I canceled the honeymoon before leaving the diner.
At least, I tried.
The resort told me the reservation had already been changed.
“Changed how?” I asked.
The concierge hesitated.
“Your husband moved the arrival date forward.”
“To when?”
“Tonight.”
I looked at Arthur.
His face changed.
“Tonight?”
“Yes, Ms. Bennett. Mr. Sterling contacted us yesterday afternoon and requested a private airport transfer for this evening.”
My stomach tightened.
Our original flight to St. Lucia wasn’t supposed to leave until Saturday.
Two days away.
“Did he explain why?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Did he modify anything else?”
A pause.
“Yes.”
“What?”
“He upgraded the reservation to one of our cliff villas.”
Arthur stared at me.
I put the phone on speaker.
“Anything special about that villa?”
“It’s our most private accommodation. Detached from the main resort, private pool, private vehicle access.”
I closed my eyes.
Privacy.
That word sounded different now.
“Cancel the entire reservation.”
“There is a cancellation penalty.”
“I don’t care.”
“Of course.”
I ended the call.
Arthur looked shaken.
“You don’t think—”
“I don’t know what I think.”
For the first time since leaving breakfast, my voice cracked.
“I don’t know who I married.”
Arthur looked down.
Neither did he.
Daniel called again before I reached the office.
“We found more.”
“Of course you did.”
“The insurance form was submitted through a broker.”
“Which broker?”
“Martin Crane.”
I knew the name.
Crane had been the Sterling family’s insurance adviser for years.
“Call him.”
“We already did.”
“And?”
“He says Julian personally delivered the form with your signature.”
I felt something inside me go very still.
“Did Martin witness me sign it?”
“No.”
“Then why process it?”
“He says Julian told him you signed at home.”
“Idiot.”
“Possibly.”
Daniel paused.
“But Claire, the beneficiary change isn’t the biggest problem.”
I stopped walking.
“What is?”
“There’s an application for a $15 million key-person insurance policy.”
I almost dropped the phone.
“On me?”
“Yes.”
“Through Hawthorne?”
“No.”
“Who applied?”
“Sterling Development.”
My chest tightened.
“Beneficiary?”
“Sterling Development.”
“And who signed as executive officer?”
“Julian.”
I stood beside the Mercedes in the parking lot, staring at nothing.
Fifteen million dollars.
If I died, Julian’s failing company would receive enough money to eliminate most of its debt.
“Was the policy approved?”
“Not yet.”
“Medical exam?”
“Scheduled.”
“When?”
“This Friday.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Our honeymoon was supposed to start Friday.”
Daniel understood immediately.
“You would have missed it.”
“Or Julian planned to reschedule it.”
“Claire.”
“Yes?”
“I want you to file a police report.”
I looked at Arthur, who had followed me outside.
He clearly heard Daniel through the phone.
“I agree,” Arthur said.
I stared at him.
“You agree?”
“Yes.”
“Against your own son?”
Arthur’s eyes filled with something painful.
“Especially if my own son did this.”
I ended the call with Daniel and studied Arthur.
“Would you testify?”
“If needed.”
“Against Beatrice too?”
He hesitated.
There it was.
Thirty-seven years of habit.
I shook my head.
“I thought so.”
“Claire.”
“Go home, Arthur.”
“I’m trying to help.”
“No. You’re trying to feel better.”
He flinched.
“There’s a difference.”
I opened the driver’s door.
Arthur stepped closer.
“I have documents.”
I stopped.
“What documents?”
“Personal records.”
“What kind?”
“Ledgers Beatrice kept before everything became digital.”
My eyes narrowed.
“Where?”
“In a safe-deposit box.”
“Why would Beatrice keep handwritten ledgers?”
“She didn’t trust accountants.”
That sounded exactly like her.
“Why do you have them?”
“Because I realized six months ago she was destroying records.”
My pulse quickened.
“What do the ledgers show?”
“Payments.”
“To whom?”
“Companies.”
“Shell companies?”
Arthur nodded.
“And some personal transfers.”
“Cynthia?”
“Yes.”
“Julian?”
He looked away.
“Yes.”
My jaw tightened.
“Get them.”
Arthur took a breath.
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“The box requires two keys.”
I stared at him.
“Who has the second?”
“Beatrice.”
I almost laughed.
“Wonderful.”
“But there may be another way.”
“What?”
“The bank allows access with both account holders physically present.”
“Meaning?”
“I can ask her to come.”
“And you think she will?”
“If she believes the box contains something she wants.”
I watched him.
“Does it?”
Arthur reached into his coat and removed a small folded paper.
He handed it to me.
It was an inventory list.
Property deeds.
Old stock certificates.
Jewelry appraisals.
And one item circled in black ink.
Sterling Family Trust – Original Amendment.
“What is that?”
Arthur looked toward the road.
“Something Beatrice has wanted for twenty years.”
“What does it do?”
“It determines who controls a block of Sterling family property.”
“How much?”
“Before the debt?”
He swallowed.
“Approximately eighteen million dollars.”
“And after?”
“Maybe six.”
“Who controls it now?”
“My older brother, Henry.”
I remembered Henry Sterling vaguely.
He lived in Arizona and almost never attended family events.
“Beatrice wants control.”
“She always has.”
“So you tell her the amendment is in the box.”
“Yes.”
“And when she comes?”
“We get access.”
I shook my head.
“Too risky.”
“It may be the only evidence left.”
I studied the inventory.
Then my phone rang.
Julian.
Again.
I almost ignored it.
Something stopped me.
I answered.
“Claire.”
His voice was completely different now.
Soft.
Warm.
The voice I had fallen in love with.
“I’ve been calling you.”
“I noticed.”
“Can we please stop doing this?”
“This?”
“I’m sorry about breakfast.”
I said nothing.
“I was stressed.”
Silence.
“My mother was upset.”
Silence.
“I handled it badly.”
Still nothing.
He sighed.
“Where are you?”
“Why?”
“So I can come get you.”
My entire body went cold.
“No.”
“Claire.”
“No.”
“Then come back to the house.”
“I’m not doing that.”
He paused.
“We have a flight tonight.”
There it was.
“You moved the honeymoon.”
Another pause.
“Surprise.”
My fingers tightened.
“You never told me.”
“I wanted to.”
“Before or after you put me on the plane?”
His tone hardened slightly.
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing.”
“Claire, stop playing games.”
I closed my eyes.
There he was again.
The real Julian.
“Why did you move the flight?”
“My mother thinks we need time away.”
“Your mother planned our honeymoon?”
“No.”
“Then why does her opinion matter?”
He exhaled sharply.
“Because everyone thinks you’re overreacting.”
I almost smiled.
“Everyone.”
“Yes.”
“I’m not going.”
Silence.
Then Julian said something strange.
“You need to.”
Not should.
Need.
“Why?”
“Because we’re married.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
His breathing changed.
“Claire, please.”
For the first time, he sounded desperate.
“Just come home.”
“No.”
“Where are you?”
I hung up.
Arthur stared at me.
“What?”
I looked at the phone.
“He wasn’t calling to apologize.”
Arthur swallowed.
“What did he want?”
“To know where I am.”
My screen lit up with a new text.
Not from Julian.
From an unknown number.
A photograph appeared.
It was taken less than a minute ago.
Me.
Standing in the parking lot beside Arthur.
May you like
The message beneath it contained only six words.
You should have gotten on the plane.
