Chapter 3 - The Signature I Never Gave
Brooks backed away from the window.
That frightened me more than the approaching boat.
He had expected storms.
He had expected darkness.
He had expected me unconscious.
He had not expected whoever was outside.
Arthur grabbed Brooks’s arm.
“Did you contact them?”
“No.”
“Then why are they here?”
“I don't know.”
Eleanor looked between them.
“Who?”
Neither answered.
I kept my expression unfocused.
Brooks seemed to remember I was in the room.
He turned.
“Victoria, stay here.”
“What's happening?”
“Nothing.”
The easiest lie in the world.
Nothing.
I nodded.
Brooks left with Arthur.
Eleanor remained.
That was not an accident.
She sat beside me.
“You must be frightened.”
“A little.”
“Brooks will handle everything.”
I almost admired the consistency.
Even now.
Even after their plan had shifted twice.
Even with a mystery vessel approaching.
Eleanor continued playing mother.
She pulled the blanket over my legs.
“Try to rest.”
I closed my eyes.
She waited.
One minute.
Two.
Three.
Then her footsteps moved toward the door.
The lock clicked.
From outside.
I opened my eyes.
Locked in.
Again.
I stood.
The room swayed.
I steadied myself.
My phone connected briefly to the yacht network.
One message came through from Phoebe.
Found Cassandra. Call when secure.
I typed:
TEXT ONLY. LOCKED IN SUITE. WHO IS SHE?
Three dots appeared.
Then disappeared.
Appeared again.
Cassandra Vale. 34. Former executive assistant to Arthur Mercer. Currently listed as director of Marrow Holdings.
My blood ran cold.
Not Brooks’s consultant.
Arthur's employee.
Phoebe sent another message.
Victoria, there is a marriage certificate.
I frowned.
Whose?
The answer arrived.
Brooks Mercer and Cassandra Vale. Nevada. Five years ago. No divorce record located.
I read it three times.
My breathing stopped.
Brooks was married.
Already married.
Our wedding—
I sat down.
The entire ceremony came back in pieces.
My father walking me down the aisle.
My mother's hands shaking as she fastened my grandmother's bracelet.
Brooks standing beneath white roses.
Two hundred guests.
His vows.
There has never been anyone before you who made me understand what home means.
A lie spoken publicly.
Calmly.
Beautifully.
I had thought discovering a plot against my life would destroy every illusion at once.
I had been wrong.
There were apparently layers to betrayal.
I typed:
ARE YOU CERTAIN?
Phoebe replied immediately.
Certificate appears authentic. Verifying whether marriage remained legally valid when yours occurred.
Then:
Do not confront him with this.
I almost laughed.
Confront him?
I couldn't even get out of my bedroom.
I looked toward the balcony.
The suite opened onto a narrow private deck running along the starboard side.
Locked from inside.
I opened it.
Wind rushed in.
The approaching vessel was closer now.
A dark motor yacht.
No obvious identification from this angle.
Men moved on its deck.
I could not see faces.
Then someone flashed a light.
Three short bursts.
Pause.
Two.
Pause.
Three.
A pattern.
Something in my memory stirred.
Dad.
Summer sailing trips.
He used to make me learn stupid little emergency signals.
“Technology fails.”
“Dad, I'm sixteen.”
“And apparently sixteen-year-olds become immortal?”
I looked again.
Three.
Two.
Three.
I grabbed my phone and searched my notes.
Nothing.
Then I remembered.
Not a standard distress code.
A family signal.
Dad used it with Samuel when docking at night.
Three-two-three.
Sterling secure contact.
My knees almost gave out.
Dad had sent them.
Or Samuel had called someone my father trusted.
I stepped onto the balcony.
A flashlight moved toward me.
I raised my phone.
Before I could signal, the suite door opened.
I spun.
Brooks stood there.
His eyes moved from me to the approaching boat.
Then to my phone.
The warmth vanished from his face.
“What are you doing?”
“Trying to see what's happening.”
“I told you to stay inside.”
“You locked the door.”
He paused.
“Eleanor thought you might wander while confused.”
“I'm not confused.”
Silence.
Wrong answer.
Brooks closed the door behind him.
“Victoria.”
I stepped back.
“What?”
“You've had a difficult few days.”
“Yes.”
“You're sick.”
“That’s what you keep telling me.”
His eyes sharpened.
I had gone too far.
So I softened.
“I’m scared, Brooks.”
That worked.
His shoulders relaxed.
He crossed toward me.
“You don't need to be.”
He touched my face.
I allowed it.
“Who's on that boat?”
“Security.”
“Whose?”
“Your father's.”
My surprise was real.
Brooks saw it.
Good.
“Why?”
“He’s paranoid.”
“My father sent security to our honeymoon?”
“Apparently Samuel reported an electrical issue and your father overreacted.”
Possible.
Almost.
Brooks kissed my forehead.
“Stay in here while I straighten it out.”
I looked at him.
“Can I call Dad?”
His jaw tightened.
“Once we restore communications.”
“My phone connected.”
“What?”
“For a second.”
He held out his hand.
“Give it to me.”
I hesitated exactly long enough to look weak.
Not suspicious.
Then handed it over.
His face relaxed.
He checked the screen.
I had deleted Phoebe's thread.
He opened calls.
Nothing.
Email.
No connection history.
Brooks handed the phone back.
“See? Nothing.”
I nodded.
He smiled.
The door opened again.
Arthur entered.
“Brooks.”
Something in his tone made Brooks leave immediately.
Arthur stayed.
I sat on the edge of the bed.
He looked at me.
No fake affection.
No performance.
“You're feeling better.”
“A little.”
“Surprisingly quickly.”
I swallowed.
“Maybe the seasickness passed.”
“Perhaps.”
He looked toward the porcelain dish.
One tablet remained.
I realized the other was still in my palm.
My fingers had closed around it.
Arthur saw.
“Why haven't you taken that?”
I looked down.
“I forgot.”
He extended his hand.
“I’ll get you water.”
“No.”
Too quick.
His eyebrow lifted.
I smiled weakly.
“I mean, I already feel nauseous.”
Arthur sat opposite me.
“You know, Victoria, Brooks was terrified you wouldn't like us.”
I said nothing.
“He talked about you constantly after you met.”
“How sweet.”
“He said you were unlike anyone he'd ever known.”
I wondered whether he had told Cassandra the same thing.
Arthur continued.
“Your father was difficult at first.”
“My father is careful.”
“He was insulting.”
“He asked Brooks to sign a prenup.”
“He treated my son like a thief.”
The bitterness finally appeared.
There.
Real.
I looked at Arthur.
“Was he wrong?”
Silence.
His face changed.
Tiny.
Enough.
Then he smiled.
“You really are feeling better.”
I stood.
“So are you.”
“What does that mean?”
“You look less worried than you did when the boat appeared.”
Arthur studied me.
I had made another mistake.
Before he could respond, pounding sounded from the corridor.
Samuel shouted:
“Mr. Sterling!”
Arthur stood.
The door opened.
Samuel entered.
Behind him was a woman in a dark windbreaker.
Forties.
Short brown hair.
A badge clipped at her waist.
Not police.
Private security.
She looked at me first.
“Ms. Sterling?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Dana Reeves. Your father hired my firm.”
Arthur interrupted.
“This is unnecessary.”
Dana ignored him.
“Your father requested immediate confirmation that you're safe.”
“I am.”
“May I speak with you alone?”
Arthur laughed.
“No.”
Dana looked at him.
“I wasn't asking you.”
The room changed.
Arthur stepped toward her.
“This is a private family vessel.”
Dana glanced around.
“Owned by Sterling Maritime Holdings.”
Arthur stopped.
She knew.
Brooks appeared behind her.
“Victoria doesn't need strangers interrogating her.”
Dana turned.
“Interesting choice of word.”
“What?”
“Interrogating.”
He stared.
Dana pulled a sealed document envelope from inside her jacket.
“I was sent here because Sterling family counsel discovered irregular financial filings connected to Victoria.”
Brooks's face drained.
Arthur recovered first.
“Then counsel can discuss them tomorrow.”
“No.”
Dana looked at me.
“Ms. Sterling, I need you to answer one question.”
I stood.
“What?”
“Did you appear before a notary in Manhattan on February twelfth and authorize Brooks Mercer to act over your trust interests?”
Brooks interrupted.
“Her name is Sterling.”
Dana looked at him.
“Your legal name is Mercer.”
Silence.
I watched Eleanor arrive behind him.
Dana held up the document.
“Victoria?”
“No.”
Brooks stared at me.
“No what?”
“I never appeared before that notary.”
He laughed.
“You don't remember.”
“I remember where I was February twelfth.”
“Victoria—”
“I was in Boston.”
Arthur stepped forward.
“You were not.”
I looked at him.
“My grandmother had surgery.”
Everyone stopped.
I continued.
“I spent four days at Massachusetts General with my mother. There are cameras, hotel records, hospital records, drivers.”
Dana nodded.
“We already confirmed them.”
Brooks said nothing.
His expression finally broke.
Not completely.
Enough.
Dana reached into the envelope.
“There is also the matter of the woman who did appear.”
Brooks went still.
I watched him.
“Cassandra?”
His eyes snapped toward me.
There it was.
The answer.
He knew.
Arthur swore.
Eleanor covered her mouth.
Dana stared at Brooks.
“You know Cassandra Vale?”
“No.”
Too late.
I almost smiled.
Dana pulled out a photograph.
“Then perhaps you can explain why she used Victoria’s identification while wearing Victoria’s clothing.”
Brooks looked at Arthur.
Not me.
Arthur looked back.
Father and son.
One silent accusation.
Then Dana delivered the blow neither expected.
“And perhaps one of you can explain why Cassandra Vale claims she is still legally married to Brooks.”
Eleanor staggered backward.
I stood perfectly still.
Brooks whispered, “She contacted you?”
Dana didn't answer.
His panic grew.
“When?”
Arthur grabbed him.
“Stop talking.”
Brooks shook him off.
“Where is she?”
That question told me more than any confession.
Dana's phone rang.
She checked the screen.
Her expression changed.
“Excuse me.”
She answered.
Listened.
Then looked directly at Samuel.
“Captain, secure the yacht.”
Samuel frowned.
“Why?”
Dana lowered the phone.
“Because Cassandra Vale isn't in Nevada.”
My pulse accelerated.
“Where is she?”
Dana turned toward the salon.
A door slammed somewhere below.
Footsteps.
Running.
Dana reached for the corridor radio.
“She’s aboard this yacht.”
Then a woman screamed from the lower deck:
“VICTORIA!”
I knew the voice.
I had heard it once before.
At the charity dinner.
The woman Brooks had called a consultant.
May you like
Cassandra was here.
And she was running straight toward me.
