Chapter 3 - THE WOMAN WHO KNEW TOO MUCH
I looked at Florence for several seconds without saying anything.
She looked frightened now.
Not confused.
Not hurt.
Frightened.
“Who was that?” she whispered.
I put my phone away.
“Who?”
“The call.”
“What call?”
She stared at me.
I watched her carefully.
Florence had always been exceptionally good at controlling her emotions.
That was one of the things I admired about her.
She could walk into a room full of strangers and make everyone feel comfortable within minutes.
She knew when to smile.
When to laugh.
When to touch someone's arm.
When to lower her voice.
But now her control was slipping.
“You received a call,” she said.
“I receive many calls.”
“Jonathan.”
I stepped closer.
“Where is my daughter?”
Florence's face changed.
“I don't know.”
“Don't lie to me.”
“I am not lying.”
“Then tell me why she made a video saying you were investigating my trust.”
Florence said nothing.
That silence told me more than an answer could have.
Martin stepped beside me.
“Florence, you need to understand something.”
She looked at him.
“You're in serious trouble.”
She laughed nervously.
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
“You will.”
She looked at me.
“Jonathan, please.”
The pleading tone almost worked.
Almost.
For two years, I had loved this woman.
I had defended her against my family.
I had ignored the age difference.
I had endured whispers from friends.
I had even stopped speaking to my sister for several months because Rebecca accused Florence of manipulating me.
And now I was wondering whether Rebecca had been trying to protect me.
“Why did you know about the Prescott Family Trust?”
Florence went still.
“Who told you that?”
I smiled without humor.
“So you do know about it.”
She realized her mistake.
“I heard about it from someone.”
“Who?”
“I don't remember.”
“You don't remember?”
“It was years ago.”
“You've known about my trust for years?”
She shook her head.
“No.”
“Then why did my daughter say you had the exact value?”
Florence stepped backward.
“I don't know what Christina thinks she saw.”
“She left evidence.”
“Evidence?”
Her eyes moved toward my jacket.
The USB.
She knew.
She absolutely knew.
“Where did you get that?” she asked.
I didn't answer.
She suddenly turned toward Leo.
“Did he give it to you?”
Leo hid behind me.
I put my hand on his shoulder.
“Don't talk to my grandson.”
Florence looked shocked.
“I wasn't going to hurt him.”
“Then why are you afraid of him?”
She said nothing.
The ballroom music suddenly stopped.
Guests began moving into the hallway.
Martin looked at his watch.
“The ceremony was supposed to begin five minutes ago.”
Florence's eyes widened.
“Jonathan, you can't do this here.”
“Do what?”
“Humiliate me.”
I stared at her.
“Humiliate you?”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“This is our wedding.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“It was supposed to be.”
She looked at me.
“Jonathan…”
I opened the conference-room door.
“Get everyone out of the ballroom.”
Her expression changed.
“What?”
“The wedding is canceled.”
She stared at me as if I had struck her.
“You can't.”
“I just did.”
Her voice dropped.
“You'll regret this.”
That sentence stayed with me.
Because it wasn't the sentence of a woman whose wedding had just been canceled.
It was the sentence of someone who believed she still had power.
I turned to Martin.
“Get security.”
Florence stepped toward me.
“Jonathan, listen to me.”
I didn't.
She reached for my arm.
I pulled away.
“Don't touch me.”
Her face hardened.
For the first time, I saw the woman behind the mask.
And she was not the woman I had loved.
She left without another word.
Martin waited until she disappeared.
Then he locked the door.
“Now what?”
“We find Christina.”
He nodded.
“I know someone.”
“Who?”
“Detective Samuel Grant.”
Two hours later, we were in a private office at the Chicago Police Department.
Detective Grant listened to everything.
The phone call.
The video.
The USB.
The photographs.
When I finished, he leaned back.
“Mr. Prescott, there's something you should know.”
“What?”
“Your daughter came to us yesterday.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“She didn't file a formal report.”
“Why?”
“She was afraid.”
“Of Florence?”
Grant nodded.
“She said she had evidence involving financial fraud, identity theft, and possible kidnapping.”
My heart sank.
“Why didn't you call me?”
“She specifically asked us not to.”
I looked down.
Christina had been trying to protect me.
And I had been too blind to see it.
Grant continued.
“She left a statement.”
“Where is she now?”
“We don't know.”
“Then find her.”
“We're working on it.”
“My daughter is missing.”
“I understand.”
“No.”
I slammed my palm onto the desk.
“You don't understand.”
My voice broke.
“She has a three-year-old son.”
Grant remained calm.
“We have officers looking.”
“What about Florence?”
“We need evidence before we move.”
I reached into my jacket.
The USB drive sat in my palm.
“Then start here.”
Grant examined it carefully.
“Did you open it?”
“Yes.”
“On a networked computer?”
“No.”
“Good.”
He looked at the files.
“We'll make forensic copies.”
Martin asked,
“What about the wedding?”
Grant looked at me.
“Cancel it.”
“It already is.”
“Good.”
I almost laughed.
The wedding had seemed like the most important day of my life that morning.
Now I couldn't remember why.
We spent the next several hours examining the files.
The financial records were worse than I expected.
Money had been transferred from several companies connected to my business.
Small amounts at first.
Then larger ones.
Millions.
The transfers were disguised as consulting fees.
But the receiving companies all had one thing in common.
They were controlled by people connected to Florence.
Grant looked at me.
“Do you recognize this company?”
I shook my head.
“No.”
Martin did.
His face turned pale.
“Jonathan…”
“What?”
“That company owns a building downtown.”
“So?”
“It's where Florence lived before she met you.”
I stared at him.
Grant leaned forward.
“And that's not all.”
He opened another file.
A photograph appeared.
Florence was standing beside Thomas Reed.
But this photograph was different.
They were holding hands.
Not casually.
Intimately.
The date was three years before Florence and I met.
My stomach turned.
There were more photographs.
Florence with Thomas.
Florence with other men.
Florence entering hotels.
Florence leaving banks.
Then a document appeared.
A list of names.
At the top was mine.
Below it were several wealthy older men.
Next to each name was an amount.
And beside the amount was a date.
Martin whispered,
“She's done this before.”
I looked at him.
“What?”
“She has targeted wealthy men.”
Grant nodded.
“That's what it looks like.”
I stared at the screen.
“How many?”
“Seven confirmed,” Grant said.
“Seven?”
“Possibly more.”
Then another file opened.
It was a photograph of a young woman.
I recognized her immediately.
My daughter.
Christina.
The photograph had been taken outside my office.
Underneath it was a handwritten note.
SHE KNOWS TOO MUCH.
I felt something inside me break.
Then the next photograph appeared.
It showed Leo.
Sleeping in the back seat of Christina's car.
A second note was written beneath it.
THE CHILD CAN BE USED.
I stood so quickly my chair fell backward.
“I'll kill them.”
Grant grabbed my arm.
“No.”
“They threatened my grandson.”
“We will handle this.”
“I'll find them myself.”
“And get yourself killed?”
I stared at him.
He lowered his voice.
“Mr. Prescott, whoever you're dealing with has been planning this for a long time.”
I looked at the screen.
The evidence wasn't just about Florence.
It was about a network.
A network that had been watching my family.
Then Martin noticed something.
“Wait.”
He pointed to one file.
“What?”
“Look at the name.”
I leaned closer.
The file was titled:
PROJECT PRESCOTT
Beneath it was a date.
Three years before I met Florence.
And below that was a single sentence.
OBJECTIVE: MARRIAGE
I felt the room tilt.
Florence hadn't fallen in love with me.
She had selected me.
May you like
And suddenly the canceled wedding no longer felt like the end of something.
It felt like the beginning.
