I stood over the open suitcase.
Everything else was untouched.
Only the blue folder was missing.
Brandon came in behind me.
He saw the suitcase.
Then he looked at me.
“They wanted that.”
“Yes.”
Megan closed the hotel door.
“Then Barbara knew exactly where it was.”
Brandon shook his head.
“She couldn't have taken it herself.”
“Why not?”
“Because she was at the cathedral.”
I looked at him.
“Then someone working for her did.”
The police entered the suite.
They photographed the room.
They photographed the empty compartment.
They took the phone.
One officer asked us not to touch anything.
I sat beside Lisa.
She was watching me carefully.
“Mom?”
“Yes?”
“Are we in trouble?”
“No.”
She looked toward the officers.
“Then why are they here?”
I brushed her hair away from her face.
“Because someone did something wrong.”
“Grandma?”
I hesitated.
“I don't know.”
Lisa looked down.
“I think she hates me.”
I pulled her closer.
“Her feelings are not your fault.”
Brandon heard me.
He knelt beside us.
“Nothing she does changes who you are.”
Lisa looked at him.
“Are you still going to be my dad?”
His eyes filled.
“If you'll have me.”
Lisa nodded.
“I will.”
He hugged her.
I looked away.
Some moments deserved privacy.
The officers finished their search.
One of them returned.
“We found a problem.”
“What?”
“The security footage from the Sterling residence has been altered.”
Brandon frowned.
“Altered how?”
“Several minutes were deleted.”
“Can you recover them?”
“Possibly.”
“Do it.”
The officer looked at me.
“There is another matter.”
“What?”
“The person in the footage was wearing something distinctive.”
He showed us the image.
A silver hairpin.
My heart sank.
Barbara had placed that pin in my hair before the ceremony.
“That's mine,” I said.
Brandon looked at me.
“Where is it?”
I touched my hair.
It was gone.
I had not noticed.
The officer studied the photograph.
“So whoever entered the house had access to your hairpin.”
Brandon's expression hardened.
“Or someone wanted us to think that.”
The officer nodded.
“Exactly.”
We returned to the hotel room.
The police left with the evidence.
Megan sat beside me.
“I don't like this.”
“Neither do I.”
Brandon stood at the window.
He had been silent for several minutes.
Then he said, “My mother has been planning this for longer than we thought.”
I looked at him.
“Yes.”
“She knew about the folder.”
“Yes.”
“She knew about the dress.”
“Yes.”
“She knew about the investigator.”
“Yes.”
He turned.
“And she knew exactly when I would be distracted.”
I nodded.
“What are you thinking?”
“That this wasn't about embarrassing you at the wedding.”
He looked at me.
“It was about making you look guilty.”
A chill ran through me.
He continued.
“She wanted the police to come after you.”
“She wanted you to leave me.”
“She wanted everyone to believe you were unstable.”
I remembered the message on the phone.
He will understand once everyone sees it.
I suddenly understood something else.
The wedding was never the final attack.
It was the beginning.
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
No one spoke.
Then a man's voice whispered.
“Stop looking.”
I froze.
“Who is this?”
“You don't know what you're dealing with.”
“Who are you?”
The line went dead.
Brandon had heard enough.
“Call the police.”
I did.
While we waited, he examined the phone.
The number was blocked.
No trace.
Then Lisa screamed from the hallway.
We ran.
She was standing near the elevator.
A man had left something on the floor.
A small envelope.
Lisa pointed.
“He gave it to me.”
“What man?”
“He walked away.”
I picked up the envelope.
Inside was a photograph.
It showed my old apartment.
Taken from across the street.
On the back was a date.
The date was six months before I met Brandon.
I stared at it.
Someone had been watching me long before Barbara knew me.
Brandon saw my expression.
“What is it?”
I handed him the photograph.
He turned it over.
His face changed.
“What?”
He pointed to the corner.
There was a car parked beside the curb.
A black sedan.
The license plate was visible.
Brandon recognized it.
“That belongs to my father.”
I looked at him.
“Your father?”
“My father died eight years ago.”
Neither of us spoke.
The police returned.
Brandon showed them the photograph.
They photographed it immediately.
One officer asked, “Who is your father?”
“Richard Sterling.”
The officer exchanged a look with his partner.
“Why?”
“Because that car belonged to him.”
The officer looked at the plate.
“We may have a problem.”
“What kind?”
“That vehicle was reported stolen eight years ago.”
Brandon stared.
“My father didn't steal his own car.”
“No.”
The officer paused.
“But the theft report may not be accurate.”
We followed them downstairs.
A detective arrived.
She introduced herself as Detective Harris.
She examined the photograph.
Then she asked for the blue folder.
“It was stolen.”
She looked at me.
“Then we need to know what was inside.”
I told her.
“Corporate records.”
“Anything else?”
“Financial documents.”
“Anything involving the Sterling family?”
“Yes.”
“Anything involving Richard Sterling?”
I nodded.
She looked at Brandon.
“Your father's death was never investigated as a financial crime.”
Brandon stared at her.
“My father died of a heart attack.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you saying this?”
“Because three days before his death, he filed a confidential report with his attorney.”
“What kind?”
“Financial irregularities.”
I felt the room tilt.
“Against whom?”
Detective Harris looked at me.
Then at Brandon.
“We don't know.”
Brandon stepped closer.
“Can you find out?”
“Yes.”
She opened her notebook.
“But I need the folder.”
I looked down.
“It is gone.”
She nodded.
“Then someone believes whatever is in it is worth stealing.”
Megan asked, “Could Barbara know?”
Detective Harris answered carefully.
“She may.”
“But you don't know.”
“No.”
The detective paused.
“There is one more thing.”
She handed Brandon a photocopy.
It was an old photograph.
His father stood beside a younger Barbara.
Behind them was a man I did not recognize.
Brandon stared at him.
“That's Michael Vance.”
“Who?”
“My father's accountant.”
Detective Harris nodded.
“He disappeared the same week your father died.”
The room went silent.
Brandon looked at me.
I remembered the man's voice from the recording.
You could destroy her.
A possibility formed in my mind.
“Detective,” I said.
“Yes?”
“The man speaking to Barbara on the recording.”
She looked at me.
“You have his voice?”
“Yes.”
“Then we may be able to identify him.”
She took the phone.
The detective listened.
Her expression changed.
She replayed it.
Then again.
Finally she looked at Brandon.
“You need to hear this.”
She played the recording.
The man's voice came through the speaker.
I recognized the calm tone.
The measured pauses.
The confidence.
Detective Harris looked at us.
“That is Michael Vance.”
Brandon went completely still.
“But he disappeared eight years ago.”
Detective Harris nodded.
“Apparently, he didn't disappear.”
Click here to continue reading: PART 8: Michael Vance Was Supposed to Be Dead to the Sterling Family, Yet His Voice Had Been Giving Barbara Orders From the Shadows
I Thought I Was Marrying Into a Family, Until One Strange Package Arrived and Made Me Question What They Were Really Planning
Part 7 of 15
