Chapter 2 - Cracks in the Fortune
The first warning came in the form of a broken Bentley.
Walter was supposed to pick me up for a charity dinner, but instead, a yellow taxi stopped outside my apartment.
Walter climbed out slowly, leaning on his silver-handled cane.
I stared past him.
“Where is the Bentley?”
“In the repair shop.”
“What happened?”
“Transmission problem.”
“On a Bentley?”
Walter smiled.
“Expensive cars break too, darling.”
I told myself it meant nothing.
Cars needed repairs. Even rich people used taxis occasionally.
But when we arrived at the charity event, Walter asked me to pay the fare.
He searched his pockets, frowned, and said he had forgotten his wallet.
It was only forty dollars.
Still, I felt a small pulse of irritation.
“You could reimburse me later,” I said.
“Of course.”
He kissed my cheek.
“I’m arranging something extraordinary for you. Once the legal details are complete, you’ll never need to think about forty dollars again.”
That sentence became his favorite explanation.
Every strange event was connected to legal details.
His credit card was declined at a jewelry store.
Legal details.
He postponed our visit to the mansion because the renovation crew had discovered structural damage.
Legal details.
His private banker stopped returning calls.
Legal details.
The Bentley remained in the repair shop for weeks.
Legal details.
I began asking more questions.
Walter always answered calmly.
The family estate, he said, was held through a complicated trust. His investments were being reorganized before the marriage. His attorneys were preparing documents to protect me if anything happened to him.
“You worry too much,” he told me over dinner.
“I’m not worried.”
“You are.”
“I simply want to understand our future.”
“Our future is secure.”
“How secure?”
Walter placed his fork down.
“What does that mean?”
I smiled quickly.
“I mean emotionally.”
He watched me for several seconds.
Then he smiled too.
“Of course.”
But there was something in his expression that made me feel as though I had failed an examination I did not know I was taking.
The second warning came when Walter asked me for money.
We were sitting in my apartment reviewing wedding invitations. Walter appeared distracted, turning his phone over in his hands.
“What is it?” I asked.
“A temporary inconvenience.”
“What kind?”
“My accounts are frozen until the trustees complete a review.”
“How long?”
“A few weeks.”
“That’s strange.”
“It happens more often than you think.”
I waited.
Walter sighed.
“My tailor needs payment for the wedding suit.”
I laughed, assuming he was joking.
He was not.
“How much?”
“Three thousand.”
I stared at him.
“You want me to pay for your suit?”
“I’m asking for a loan.”
“You have millions of dollars.”
“Yes.”
“And you cannot access three thousand?”
“Not today.”
I looked at the diamond ring on my hand.
Walter noticed.
“If this makes you uncomfortable, I understand.”
His disappointment frightened me more than the request.
I did not want him questioning the marriage.
Three thousand dollars was nearly everything I had saved, but once we were married, it would be meaningless.
“I’ll transfer it,” I said.
Walter touched my face.
“You are generous.”
“We’ll be married soon. It will come back to me anyway.”
His hand froze briefly against my cheek.
Then he withdrew it.
“Yes,” he said. “I suppose it will.”
After that, the requests became smaller but more frequent.
Five hundred dollars for a medical bill.
Two hundred for a deposit.
Nine hundred for an attorney’s filing fee.
Each time, Walter promised repayment.
Each time, I reminded myself that his fortune would soon be mine too.
Chloe was the first person to say what I refused to consider.
“You’re being scammed.”
We were eating takeout noodles in my apartment because I could no longer afford expensive restaurants.
“He’s not a scammer.”
“Rich men don’t borrow money from women who can’t keep jobs.”
“His accounts are temporarily frozen.”
“For three months?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Have you seen the mansion?”
“It’s under renovation.”
“Have you met his lawyer?”
“Not yet.”
“His son?”
“They’re estranged.”
“Any friends?”
“Many.”
“Name one.”
I opened my mouth.
Nothing came out.
Walter knew hundreds of people at restaurants and charity events, but I had never spent time with anyone he described as a close friend.
Chloe leaned forward.
“Vanessa, what do you actually know about this man?”
“I know he was married for forty-nine years.”
“You know what he told you.”
“I’ve seen photographs.”
“Photographs prove he once owned a camera.”
I pushed my noodles away.
“You’re jealous.”
Chloe’s face changed.
“Of what?”
“My engagement. The ring. The life I’m about to have.”
She sat back slowly.
“The ring could be fake.”
“It isn’t.”
“Did you have it appraised?”
I had not.
The next morning, I visited a jeweler across town.
The appraiser studied the ring beneath a magnifying glass. My heart pounded while I waited.
Finally, he looked up.
“The center stone is genuine.”
Relief flooded me.
“How much is it worth?”
“Depending on certification, possibly seventy-five to ninety thousand dollars.”
I almost laughed.
Chloe was wrong.
Walter was wealthy.
No scammer would give away a diamond worth more than most people’s annual salary.
I called Walter immediately.
“I had the ring appraised.”
There was silence.
“Why?”
“A friend made me nervous.”
“And what did the appraiser say?”
“That it’s worth nearly ninety thousand.”
“I see.”
“You’re not angry, are you?”
“No.”
His voice sounded tired.
“Only disappointed.”
“Walter—”
“I had hoped my word would be enough.”
Guilt stabbed me, but beneath it was triumph.
The ring was real.
The fortune had to be real too.
I apologized, and Walter forgave me.
But the questions did not disappear.
A week before the wedding, he told me the mansion would not be ready in time for us to move in.
“Where will we live?”
“My apartment.”
I had never seen his apartment.
Whenever I asked to visit, Walter claimed the elevator was being repaired, the building was undergoing electrical work, or the place was filled with documents from the estate.
“What if we stay at a hotel?” I suggested.
“That would be wasteful.”
I nearly laughed.
Since when did Walter Sterling care about waste?
That evening, I followed him.
I knew it was wrong, but I needed answers.
Walter left my apartment in a taxi. I took another cab and instructed the driver to remain several cars behind.
We traveled away from the luxury district, past office towers and elegant neighborhoods, into an older part of the city.
Walter’s taxi stopped outside a modest brick apartment building.
There was no doorman.
No security gate.
No private garage.
Walter stepped out and entered through a scratched metal door.
I remained in the cab, staring at the building.
“Are we waiting?” the driver asked.
I could not answer.
Walter Sterling, millionaire developer and heir to a family estate, appeared to live in a building where the windows had rusted air conditioners and the entrance light flickered.
I returned home and poured myself a glass of wine.
Then another.
I considered calling off the wedding.
But every time fear took hold, I looked at the ring.
Ninety thousand dollars.
Real diamonds did not belong to poor men.
The wedding ballroom had already been paid for. The guest list included judges, physicians, business owners, and charity directors. Walter had connections.
Perhaps the apartment was temporary.
Perhaps he valued privacy.
Perhaps truly wealthy people did not need to display their money constantly.
I repeated these explanations until they sounded believable.
On the night before the wedding, Walter called me.
“Are you happy?” he asked.
“Of course.”
“Are you certain you want to marry me?”
The question irritated me.
“We have discussed this.”
“I need to hear you say it.”
“Yes, Walter. I want to marry you.”
“Even if our life is different from what you expect?”
My stomach tightened.
“How different?”
He was silent for so long that I thought the call had disconnected.
Then he said, “Tomorrow, everything will be clear.”
I smiled despite my unease.
“The extraordinary surprise?”
“Yes.”
“What is it?”
“If I tell you, it will not be a surprise.”
After we ended the call, I stood in front of the mirror wearing my engagement ring and imagining myself as Mrs. Walter Sterling.
I did not know whether I was about to enter a mansion or a modest apartment.
But I believed the diamond proved one thing.
May you like
Whatever Walter was hiding, he still had money.
And by the following evening, some part of it would belong to me.
