Chapter 3 - The Woman Before Me
Rachel agreed to meet us.
Marcus didn’t want me going anywhere public.
So she came to his office.
When the elevator doors opened forty minutes later, I almost forgot I was still wearing a wedding dress.
Rachel Parker looked ordinary.
That surprised me.
I don’t know what I expected.
Maybe someone dramatic.
Someone damaged in an obvious way.
Instead, she looked like a tired thirty-eight-year-old woman in jeans, ankle boots, and a navy sweater.
She carried a folder.
The second she saw me, her face changed.
“Wow.”
I looked down at the dress.
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry.”
“So am I.”
She stepped inside.
Marcus closed the conference room door.
Rachel put the folder on the table.
“I brought everything I kept.”
“Why did you keep it?”
Her mouth tightened.
“Because my sister didn’t.”
That answer sat heavily between us.
“Where is Emily now?”
“Portland.”
“Can I speak to her?”
Rachel shook her head.
“Not yet.”
I must have looked disappointed because she quickly added, “It’s not personal.”
“What happened to her?”
Rachel sat down.
For a moment, she stared at her hands.
“Hunter destroyed her confidence.”
No one interrupted.
“They met when Emily was twenty-six. Hunter was charming. Patient. Funny. He told her she was the most extraordinary woman he had ever known.”
I felt something twist in my chest.
Hunter had said those exact words to me.
Rachel noticed my expression.
“He said it to you too?”
I nodded.
She gave a humorless smile.
“He probably has a script.”
My father muttered something under his breath.
Rachel continued.
“Emily had money coming eventually. Not billionaire money. But enough. Our grandfather owned commercial real estate in three states. Everybody knew Emily was his favorite.”
“Hunter knew?”
“Eventually.”
“How?”
“Brenda.”
Of course.
Rachel opened the folder.
Inside were printed emails.
Screenshots.
Photographs.
One showed Emily standing in front of the Dalton farmhouse.
Same floral arch.
Same yard.
Same porch.
My stomach dropped.
“That’s where my wedding was.”
“I know.”
Rachel slid another photograph toward me.
Brenda stood beneath the arch.
Feet apart.
I stared.
“No.”
Rachel nodded.
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“Emily refused.”
“So they invented the same ritual.”
“Almost identical.”
I looked closer at the photograph.
Emily wasn’t wearing a wedding dress.
“What was this?”
“Engagement dinner.”
Rachel leaned back.
“Brenda told Emily that every future Dalton bride had to prove humility before marriage. She made Emily kneel and crawl beneath a wooden bench while everyone laughed.”
My hands curled into fists.
“Hunter?”
“Watched.”
“Did he touch her?”
“Not then.”
Not then.
The words bothered me.
Rachel saw it.
“Things got worse.”
My father sat opposite her.
“How?”
Rachel hesitated.
Marcus spoke gently.
“We don’t need anything Emily hasn’t consented to share.”
Rachel nodded.
“She gave me permission to tell Briana the basics.”
She looked at me.
“Hunter constantly told Emily that she was too sensitive. Brenda would humiliate her, then Hunter would convince her she had misunderstood.”
My chest tightened.
Gaslighting.
I had heard the word a thousand times.
I had never imagined applying it to my own relationship.
“And after the inheritance changed?”
“Hunter became cold.”
“How quickly?”
“Almost overnight.”
Rachel pushed another stack of papers toward me.
Texts.
Emily: I don’t understand what changed.
Hunter: Nothing changed. I just think we rushed things.
Emily: You were talking about children last week.
Hunter: Stop being dramatic.
I closed my eyes.
Hunter had used that phrase with me too.
Stop being dramatic.
Rachel continued.
“Brenda told Emily the family had concerns about her mental stability.”
My eyes snapped open.
“She said that?”
“She started telling relatives Emily was unstable.”
Marcus wrote something down.
“Classic preemptive reputation defense.”
Rachel nodded.
“Then Hunter ended the engagement.”
“And Emily?”
“She blamed herself for years.”
Silence.
I looked down at my wedding gown.
Suddenly I didn’t feel like a fool for almost marrying Hunter.
I felt lucky.
Brenda’s arrogance had saved me.
If she had simply smiled and welcomed me, I might have signed something.
I might have married him.
I might have spent years slowly losing pieces of myself.
“What happened to Hunter financially after Emily lost the inheritance?”
Rachel gave me a long look.
“That is why I contacted you.”
She pulled out one final document.
A bank foreclosure notice.
Dalton Family Farm.
Five years ago.
My father leaned forward.
“The farm was failing?”
“Badly.”
“How badly?”
“Almost lost.”
Rachel tapped the page.
“Hunter and Brenda expected Emily’s trust money to save it.”
The room felt colder.
“But she didn’t inherit,” I said.
“No.”
“So they dumped her.”
“Yes.”
I looked toward Marcus.
“And now the farm is in trouble again.”
Marcus clicked through his laptop.
“Possibly worse.”
He had continued researching while Rachel spoke.
“There are multiple liens.”
“How much?”
He paused.
“Approximately $2.1 million.”
My mother gasped.
I stared at him.
“That farmhouse?”
“And surrounding agricultural parcels.”
Hunter had always told me the farm was almost debt free.
A family legacy.
Something his grandfather had built.
Something he wanted our future children to inherit.
Another lie.
Marcus continued.
“There’s more.”
Of course there was.
“The LLC they formed was not just for buying neighboring land.”
He rotated his screen.
“It was part of a refinancing proposal.”
I read the lender notes.
Proposed collateral.
Projected marital assets.
Spousal guarantee anticipated.
My stomach turned.
“They were going to use me as collateral.”
Marcus nodded.
“If you signed the altered guarantee.”
The room blurred for a second.
My father stood.
“I’m calling the police.”
“Dad.”
“They tried to steal from you.”
“We need evidence.”
“We have evidence.”
“We have suspicious documents.”
Marcus nodded.
“Briana’s right. We need the altered version they intended her to sign.”
Rachel frowned.
“How would you get it?”
I thought about the wedding.
About the folder Hunter’s attorney was supposed to bring.
About his cousin filming.
About Brenda saying we arranged everything.
Then I remembered something.
“The wedding planner.”
Everyone looked at me.
“What about her?” Danielle asked.
“She had a locked bridal office inside the farmhouse.”
“So?”
“My documents were being kept there until after the ceremony.”
Marcus straightened.
“Who had access?”
“Me. Hunter. The planner.”
“Anyone else?”
I thought.
“Brenda.”
Marcus was already reaching for his phone.
“We need the planner.”
Her name was Olivia Chen.
She answered on the third call.
Her voice sounded exhausted.
“Briana?”
“Olivia, I’m sorry.”
“No. Please don’t apologize.”
“Are you still at the farmhouse?”
A pause.
“Yes.”
“Is Hunter there?”
“Yes.”
“Brenda?”
“Yes.”
Marcus took the phone.
“Ms. Chen, this is Briana’s attorney. I need you to answer carefully. Is there a document packet belonging to Briana in the bridal office?”
“Yes.”
“Has anyone touched it?”
Another pause.
“Hunter asked for it.”
My heart kicked.
“Did you give it to him?” Marcus asked.
“No.”
I exhaled.
“Why not?”
“Because the packet has Briana’s name on the seal.”
Good woman.
Marcus leaned toward the phone.
“Do not open it. Do not give it to anyone. Can you place it somewhere secure?”
“Yes.”
“Can you photograph the sealed exterior first?”
“Yes.”
“And can you leave the property safely?”
“I think so.”
In the background, a door slammed.
Olivia went silent.
“Olivia?” I said.
“I have to go.”
“Wait.”
Her voice dropped to a whisper.
“Someone’s coming.”
The call ended.
My stomach clenched.
Danielle stared at me.
“Call her back.”
I did.
Voicemail.
Again.
Voicemail.
Marcus was already dialing local police.
Before he connected, my phone buzzed.
A text from Olivia.
One photograph.
The sealed packet on a desk.
Across the front:
BRIANA COLE — MARITAL ACKNOWLEDGMENT.
Then a second message.
They’re trying to get inside.
A third.
I’m taking it with me.
Then nothing.
Five minutes passed.
Ten.
The police were notified.
Marcus told Olivia by text to drive directly to the station.
No response.
I paced in my wedding dress.
Then, twenty-three minutes later, my phone rang.
Olivia.
I answered immediately.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
I could hear traffic.
“I got out.”
Everyone exhaled.
“Do you have the packet?”
“Yes.”
“Go to the police.”
“I am.”
Then she said something that made Marcus reach for the phone.
“Briana.”
“Yes?”
“I saw Hunter’s mother doing something before I left.”
“What?”
“She was burning papers behind the barn.”
Marcus swore.
“What papers?”
“I don’t know.”
“But one fell away from the fire.”
My pulse jumped.
“Did you get it?”
“Yes.”
“What does it say?”
Olivia was quiet.
Then she read the top line.
“Projected asset absorption following marriage.”
Nobody moved.
She continued.
“There’s a list underneath.”
“What list?”
“Your properties.”
My mouth went dry.
“My apartment?”
“Yes.”
“My company shares?”
“Yes.”
“My trust?”
There was a pause.
“Yes.”
I gripped the table.
At the bottom of the page was a handwritten note.
Olivia hesitated.
“What does it say?”
She read it aloud.
Once ceremony is completed and signature obtained, initiate transfer sequence Monday.
I felt sick.
Danielle whispered, “They had a schedule.”
Marcus’s expression turned hard.
“This is no longer speculation.”
My phone buzzed again.
Hunter.
This time, I answered.
He sounded relieved.
“Thank God.”
I said nothing.
“Briana, please listen to me.”
“I’m listening.”
“My mother is panicking.”
“I noticed.”
“She’s making everything worse.”
“She usually does.”
“This wasn’t my idea.”
There it was.
Not denial.
Blame.
I stared out at the city skyline.
“What wasn’t your idea, Hunter?”
Silence.
I waited.
“Hunter.”
His breathing changed.
Then, very quietly, he said:
May you like
“The farm was supposed to be ours someday anyway.”
And with that single sentence, the man I almost married finally admitted there had been a plan.
