Chapter 2 - The Whispers Behind the Door
Within twenty minutes, the festive white-and-gold pavilion had been transformed into an impromptu interrogation room. The guests had been ushered into the main drawing room under the watchful eyes of estate security, while the wedding party and staff remained in the cordoned-off garden.
Lucia knelt beside Sofi on a velvet garden bench, wiping the tears from her daughter's cheeks with a cloth handkerchief. Alex stood a few feet away, leaning against a stone pillar, watching them with an intensity that made the surrounding air feel heavy.
"Lucia," Alex said quietly, stepping closer. "Look at me. What does your daughter know?"
Lucia looked up, her dark eyes swimming with fear. For eleven days, she had carried the crushing weight of silence, terrified of losing her livelihood, her apartment, and her insurance. But looking at Alexander Ward—the man she had secretly admired from afar, whose kindness to her daughter during her recent asthma flare-up had touched her heart—she knew she couldn't protect the lie any longer.
"Eleven days ago," Lucia began, her voice shaking, "Sofi dropped her crayon. It rolled under the door of the west guest wing. When she crawled under to retrieve it... she heard voices."
Julian Pearce stepped forward, pulling a notepad from his pocket. "Whose voices, Lucia?"
"Miss Genevieve," Lucia whispered. "And... and a man. Sofi didn't know his name, but she heard them talking about money. About trust accounts. And about a transfer that was supposed to happen the day after the wedding."
Genevieve, who was being held near the fountain by two security guards, let out a sharp, hysterical laugh. "It's a conspiracy! The housekeeper wants a payout! They planned this together to extort me!"
"Shut up, Genevieve," Julian snapped without looking at her. He turned back to Sofi, crouching down to the little girl's eye level. He spoke softly, holding up the threadbare stuffed rabbit. "Sofi, can you tell Mr. Julian what else you saw?"
Sofi sniffled, wiping her nose on her sleeve. She pointed a tiny finger directly at Genevieve. "The bad man kissed her. And she said... she said once the old man signs the papers tomorrow, they'll dump him and take the Cayman accounts."
The garden went dead silent.
Alex closed his eyes. The Cayman accounts. The anomaly his legal team had flagged in the trust fund he had barely touched—the trust fund holding the majority of his liquid capital, which Genevieve had insisted on restructuring into a joint holding entity just last week.
"Who was the man, Sofi?" Alex asked, his voice chillingly calm.
Before Sofi could answer, a frantic commotion erupted near the entrance of the courtyard. A young man in an expensive bespoke tuxedo—Marcus Vance, Genevieve’s personal financial advisor and second cousin—was trying to force his way past the guards, a heavy leather briefcase clutched tightly to his chest.
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"Let me through!" Marcus shouted, his face drenched in sweat. "This is a private wedding! You can't detain us!"
Julian caught sight of the briefcase. He crossed the lawn in four long strides, grabbed Marcus by the lapel, and ripped the leather case from his grip with terrifying speed.
