Chapter 3 - The Photograph on Madison’s Table
The door handle moved again.
Ryan crossed the room in two steps and grabbed it.
“Don’t.”
I had already reached for my phone.
The unknown message remained on the screen.
DON'T OPEN THE DOOR.
Ryan looked at me.
“Who sent that?”
“I don’t know.”
Another knock.
Three slow taps.
Then silence.
Madison’s voice came through Ryan’s phone.
“Claire?”
I held up one finger, telling Ryan not to speak.
The handle stopped moving.
For several seconds, nobody on either side of the door made a sound.
Then a man spoke from the hallway.
“Ms. Bennett?”
Ryan’s shoulders tightened.
“Yes?” I called.
“My name is Detective Aaron Mercer. Las Vegas Metropolitan Police.”
I looked at Ryan.
He looked equally suspicious.
“Badge under the door,” I said.
The man paused.
Then something thin slid beneath the gap.
Ryan crouched and picked it up.
A police identification card.
He studied it.
Then showed me.
Detective Aaron Mercer.
I opened the door but left the chain in place.
A man in his early forties stood outside wearing a navy jacket over a gray shirt.
He held both hands where I could see them.
“You called the police?” I asked.
“No.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Ms. Cole did.”
Madison spoke loudly through Ryan’s phone.
“Claire, that’s him. He was at my apartment.”
I closed my eyes for half a second.
Of course.
Nothing about that day could remain simple.
I removed the chain.
Mercer stepped inside and immediately glanced around the apartment.
His eyes stopped on Ryan.
“Mr. Hale.”
Ryan frowned.
“You know me?”
“I know your name.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Mercer ignored him.
He turned toward me.
“Did you receive a text telling you not to open the door?”
My stomach dropped.
“Yes.”
“What number?”
“Unknown.”
“Show me.”
I held out the phone.
Mercer didn’t touch it.
He read the screen.
Then his expression hardened.
“Don’t delete that.”
“Who sent it?”
“We’re working on that.”
Ryan stepped forward.
“Working on what exactly?”
Mercer looked at him.
“You got married today.”
It was not a question.
Ryan’s jaw tightened.
“Yes.”
“To Madison Cole.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re engaged to Ms. Bennett.”
“Was.”
The word came from me.
Mercer glanced toward my bare hand.
Then back to Ryan.
“Ms. Cole reported a possible unlawful entry at her residence approximately forty minutes ago.”
“She told us.”
“She also reported an item left behind.”
“The photograph,” I said.
Mercer nodded.
Ryan raised his phone.
“She was about to tell us what was written on the back.”
Mercer’s eyes shifted.
“Ms. Cole?”
Madison answered.
“I’m here.”
“What exactly have you told them?”
“Everything.”
“No, you haven’t.”
Something in his tone changed the room.
Madison went quiet.
Mercer continued.
“Read me the words.”
A pause.
Then Madison whispered, “She was never supposed to sign.”
Ryan looked at me.
I looked at Mercer.
“What does that mean?”
Mercer did not answer.
“Detective.”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Someone takes a photograph of me at work, leaves it inside Madison’s apartment, and writes that I was never supposed to sign something. You clearly expected this. So tell me what I signed.”
“You tell me.”
My confusion turned to anger.
“I process marriage licenses.”
“Did you sign anything today?”
My mind moved backward through the morning.
Applications.
Clerk verification.
Receipt forms.
Internal processing logs.
Then I remembered.
The acknowledgment sheet.
Every clerk signed one whenever an application required manual verification because of an inconsistency.
Ryan’s middle initial had been missing from one of the forms.
I had corrected it.
I had signed beneath the change.
“One administrative verification.”
Mercer’s face tightened.
“What time?”
“I don’t know.”
“Think.”
“Maybe eleven fifty-two.”
Ryan looked at him.
“What is this about?”
Mercer reached inside his jacket and removed a small notebook.
“Ms. Bennett, did anyone ask you to process Mr. Hale and Ms. Cole specifically?”
“No.”
“Did your supervisor assign them to your counter?”
“No. They pulled a number.”
“Who called it?”
“I did.”
Mercer looked up.
“From the automated queue?”
“Yes.”
“Could a customer select your counter?”
“No.”
I stopped.
At least, that was what I had always assumed.
Mercer noticed.
“Could an employee redirect them?”
“Technically.”
Ryan stared at me.
“What?”
“The queue can be manually reassigned by a supervisor.”
“Did someone reassign us?”
“I don’t know.”
Mercer wrote something.
“Who has access?”
“Supervisors. Systems staff. Maybe senior administrators.”
“Names.”
I hesitated.
“My supervisor, Nina Torres, has limited access.”
Ryan immediately said, “Nina?”
I turned on him.
“Don’t.”
“I’m asking.”
“You’re accusing the woman who drove me home because you married someone else.”
“I didn’t accuse anybody.”
Mercer raised a hand.
“Other names?”
“Martin Ellison. Office director. Devon Price in systems.”
Mercer’s pen stopped.
“Price?”
“Yes.”
He looked at me.
“First name again?”
“Devon.”
Madison suddenly spoke through the phone.
“Claire.”
Something about her voice made me grip the edge of the table.
“What?”
“Evelyn’s last name is Price.”
Ryan looked at Mercer.
“Coincidence?”
Mercer didn't answer.
I did.
“Could be.”
Ryan gave me an incredulous look.
“You still believe in coincidences?”
“This morning I believed you understood marriage vows.”
His face changed.
Good.
Mercer glanced between us.
“Save the relationship discussion.”
“There is no relationship discussion,” I said.
Ryan looked away.
Mercer returned to his questions.
“Do you know Devon Price personally?”
“Barely. He maintains the licensing system.”
“Age?”
“Mid-thirties.”
“Relationship to Evelyn Price?”
“No idea.”
Mercer opened his phone.
A few seconds later he turned the screen toward me.
A photograph.
“Is this Devon?”
It was.
My mouth went dry.
“Yes.”
Ryan leaned closer.
“Why do you have his picture?”
Mercer put the phone away.
“Because Devon Price was reported missing yesterday.”
Nobody spoke.
Madison broke the silence.
“What?”
“His sister filed the report.”
Ryan’s expression sharpened.
“His sister?”
Mercer nodded.
“Evelyn Price.”
The room seemed smaller.
I looked at the black folder on the dining table.
The agreement Evelyn had delivered.
The photograph left in Madison’s apartment.
The missing systems employee who could potentially direct applicants to my counter.
This wasn't Ryan’s stupid Valentine's dare anymore.
Maybe it never had been.
“What happened to Devon?” I asked.
“We don't know.”
“When did Evelyn last see him?”
“Approximately forty-eight hours ago.”
“And she still showed up here tonight delivering contracts?”
“Yes.”
“That doesn't bother you?”
“It bothers me.”
“Then why did you let her leave?”
Mercer met my eyes.
“I didn't know she'd been here until Ms. Cole gave me this address.”
Ryan stepped closer.
“You're saying Evelyn is a suspect.”
“I didn't say that.”
“You didn't need to.”
Madison interrupted.
“Detective, I told you Evelyn called me this afternoon.”
“Yes.”
“She said she represented my father's estate.”
“I know.”
“But my father's estate closed four years ago.”
Mercer’s head lifted.
That was new.
Even to him.
“You didn't mention that.”
“I didn't think it mattered.”
Ryan laughed sharply.
“Everyone apparently has the same disease today.”
Madison ignored him.
“My dad died four years ago. Everything went through probate. There shouldn't be some new estate attorney contacting me.”
“Did you verify her credentials?” Mercer asked.
“No.”
“Did you give her anything?”
“No.”
“Did she ask for anything?”
Madison went quiet.
“Madison.”
“She wanted the original agreement.”
Ryan’s eyes moved to the folder.
“But Evelyn gave me a copy.”
“I know.”
“Where's the original?”
“With me.”
Mercer immediately straightened.
“Do not touch it.”
“I already did.”
“Where is it now?”
“My bedroom.”
“Stay out of that room.”
A male voice spoke somewhere near Madison.
Another officer, presumably.
Mercer lifted his phone.
“Officer Greene?”
Madison’s voice became distant as she carried her phone toward someone.
“Yes.”
Mercer’s tone changed completely.
“Secure the original document. Gloves. Evidence bag. Nobody else handles it.”
Ryan rubbed both hands over his face.
“I signed the original.”
Mercer looked at him.
“With what pen?”
“What?”
“What pen?”
“I don't remember.”
“You need to.”
Ryan frowned.
“The chapel had pens.”
“Did Madison give you one?”
He thought.
“Yes.”
“What did it look like?”
“Black.”
“Anything distinctive?”
Ryan closed his eyes.
Then opened them.
“Gold clip.”
Madison spoke.
“It was my dad’s.”
Everyone turned toward the phone.
“You used your father’s pen?” Mercer asked.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I found it with the agreement.”
Mercer wrote quickly.
“Where?”
“In a storage box from his office.”
“When?”
“Two weeks ago.”
Ryan stared at the phone.
“Two weeks?”
“Yes.”
“You planned this for two weeks?”
“No.”
“You found a legal agreement connected to my father’s trust two weeks ago and decided to turn it into a Valentine’s joke?”
“I didn't know it was connected to the trust.”
“My name was on it.”
“I thought my dad had drafted some template years ago.”
Ryan’s voice rose.
“You didn't think to ask?”
“You didn't think to read it!”
That stopped him.
Madison immediately sounded regretful.
“Ryan—”
“No. You're right.”
He sat down.
That was the first time I heard him admit responsibility without immediately attaching an excuse.
I wished it mattered more.
Mercer looked at me.
“I need to know every document you touched during the license process.”
“Application. Identification. Clerk verification. Certificate authorization.”
“Certificate authorization?”
“The marriage certificate can’t be completed without it.”
“Did you sign that too?”
“Yes.”
“What does your signature certify?”
“That the applicants appeared in person and met the licensing requirements.”
“Nothing else?”
“No.”
“Any electronic authentication?”
“My employee login.”
He stopped writing.
“Your login was used?”
“Yes.”
“What exactly does it authorize?”
“Final issuance.”
Mercer looked toward the door.
Then at his phone.
“What?”
I asked.
He didn't answer.
“Detective.”
“Do you have remote access to your work system?”
“No.”
“Can anyone impersonate your login?”
“Not easily. We have password plus employee badge authentication.”
“Your badge?”
I touched my blazer instinctively.
Then remembered I had changed after work.
“My purse.”
“Get it.”
I went to the bedroom.
My purse sat on the dresser.
I opened it.
Wallet.
Keys.
Lip balm.
Receipts.
No badge.
I searched again.
Nothing.
“Claire?”
Ryan appeared in the doorway.
“Stay there.”
“What happened?”
“My badge is gone.”
Mercer entered behind him.
“When did you last have it?”
“At work.”
“Did you scan out?”
“Yes.”
“So it was in your possession when you left?”
“It had to be.”
“Where did you go?”
“Nina drove me home.”
“Any stops?”
“No.”
I searched every pocket.
Nothing.
Mercer called someone.
“Run Claire Bennett’s employee credential. I need activity after eighteen hundred.”
He listened.
Then his expression changed.
“When?”
My skin went cold.
“What?”
He held up a hand.
“Yes. Send it.”
Ryan stepped closer.
“What happened?”
Mercer ended the call.
“Your badge was used at 9:26 tonight.”
I stared at him.
“That’s impossible.”
“At your office.”
“I've been here.”
“Someone hasn't.”
He showed me his phone.
A security log.
My employee number.
My name.
9:26 p.m.
SYSTEM ACCESS GRANTED.
Below it:
MANUAL RECORD MODIFICATION.
Ryan read over my shoulder.
“What record?”
Mercer scrolled.
His face hardened further.
“Yours.”
I looked at him.
“My what?”
“Your personnel record.”
“Why would someone access that?”
“I don’t know.”
Another notification appeared on his phone.
He opened it.
Then looked directly at me.
“What is it?”
He turned the screen around.
A still image from security footage.
A person in a white blazer stood at Counter Four.
My counter.
Blonde hair pinned back.
My employee badge clipped to the lapel.
From behind, she looked almost exactly like me.
Timestamp:
9:27 p.m.
Ryan whispered, “Claire…”
Mercer enlarged the image.
The woman turned partially toward the camera.
Not enough to see her face.
But enough to see what she was holding.
A marriage certificate.
Ryan and Madison’s marriage certificate.
There was writing across the bottom.
Not Ryan’s.
Not Madison’s.
Mine.
My signature.
Except I had never written it.
Mercer’s phone rang.
He answered.
“Mercer.”
He listened.
His face went still.
“Repeat that.”
Ryan and I waited.
Mercer slowly lowered the phone.
“What?” I asked.
He looked at me.
“Someone just used your badge again.”
“Where?”
“Records basement.”
“At the marriage office?”
“Yes.”
I grabbed my coat.
Mercer stopped me.
“You're not going anywhere.”
“That person is using my identity.”
“And may be waiting for you.”
Ryan picked up his jacket.
“Then I'm going.”
“No.”
“You can’t stop both of us.”
“I absolutely can.”
Then my own phone rang.
Unknown number.
We all stared at it.
Mercer whispered, “Answer. Speaker.”
I pressed the button.
“Hello?”
Nothing.
Then breathing.
A woman’s breathing.
Slow.
Controlled.
“Who is this?”
Silence.
Then she spoke.
“Claire Bennett?”
“Yes.”
“You need to listen carefully.”
Ryan moved closer.
I watched Mercer begin recording.
The woman continued.
“The photograph at Madison’s apartment wasn’t a warning for Madison.”
My throat tightened.
“Who was it for?”
“You.”
“What does ‘she was never supposed to sign’ mean?”
A pause.
Then:
“It means you weren’t supposed to be working today.”
I felt Ryan’s hand close around the back of a chair.
“Why?”
“You traded shifts.”
I froze.
I had.
Three weeks earlier.
Nina had asked me to cover Valentine’s Day morning because her son had a school performance.
I had forgotten that detail entirely.
“How do you know that?”
The woman ignored the question.
“The original plan required another clerk.”
Mercer wrote something quickly.
“Who?” I asked.
No answer.
“Who was supposed to process the license?”
The woman’s breathing became uneven.
Then she whispered one name.
“Nina.”
My blood turned cold.
Ryan looked at me.
I shook my head.
“No.”
The caller continued.
“You replaced her.”
“Nina had nothing to do with this.”
“I didn't say she did.”
“Then why was she supposed to be there?”
“Because someone needed her signature.”
“Who?”
A sound came through the call.
A door.
The caller stopped breathing.
Then she whispered, “They found me.”
Mercer stood.
“Where are you?”
No answer.
“Tell me where you are.”
A sharp noise.
The phone shifted.
Then the woman came back, barely audible.
“Records basement.”
Mercer was already moving.
“Stay inside. Lock the door.”
He ran into the hallway.
Ryan followed him.
I grabbed Ryan’s arm.
“Don’t.”
“I’m not leaving him alone.”
“This isn't your job.”
“No, but this is my fault.”
Before I could answer, he was gone.
The elevator doors closed behind them.
I locked my apartment.
Then locked it again.
My phone remained connected.
“Hello?”
Nothing.
“Are you still there?”
A whisper.
“Yes.”
“Hide.”
“I can't.”
“Why?”
“I’m not the one they came for.”
I stopped breathing.
“What?”
The caller began crying.
Then she said, “Claire, look at the black folder.”
I turned.
It was still on my dining table.
Ryan had left it behind.
“Open the back cover.”
I crossed the room.
My hands shook now.
I hated that.
I opened the folder.
“There's nothing.”
“Under the lining.”
I ran my fingers along the leather.
One corner lifted.
Something had been hidden underneath.
A small white envelope.
My name was written on it.
CLAIRE BENNETT.
“What is this?”
The caller whispered, “Something Ryan’s father left before he died.”
I tore the envelope open.
Inside was a photograph.
Ryan’s father stood beside another man.
Madison’s father.
Between them stood a woman I had never seen.
She was holding a newborn baby.
I turned the photograph over.
A date.
Thirty years earlier.
And a handwritten sentence.
IF RYAN EVER MARRIES MADISON, GIVE THIS TO CLAIRE.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
“Who is the woman?”
The caller didn't answer.
“Who is she?”
A noise came through the phone.
Then the line went dead.
I stared at the photograph.
Something else was tucked behind it.
A folded birth certificate.
I opened it.
The father’s name made no sense.
The mother’s name made even less.
Then I saw the child’s name.
Ryan Hale.
And beneath the document, there was one final handwritten note.
I unfolded it.
The first line read:
RYAN AND MADISON CAN NEVER BE LEGALLY MARRIED.
The second line explained why.
Before I could finish reading it, someone unlocked my apartment door from the outside.
The deadbolt turned.
May you like
The chain pulled tight.
And Nina whispered my name from the hallway.
