Chapter 5
I asked Avery for the original conversation with dates and the number visible.
Her reply arrived almost immediately.
I shouldn't have to surrender my privacy just to be believed.
I stared at that sentence after what she had done to Reed's privacy downstairs.
"We're postponing tomorrow," I said.
Reed closed his eyes, then nodded.
"I'll tell Wendy."
"We'll tell her together."
He had moved toward the door when I remembered the cancellation form.
"Did Grant discuss the wedding with you today?"
"He asked if I was sure about everything. I thought he meant marriage."
"What else did he say?"
Reed hesitated.
"He's been offering to buy my shares in the hotel. He says we're heading into expensive years and cash would give us freedom."
"How much?"
"A hundred and eighty thousand."
I remembered a valuation Reed had shown me months earlier. Even allowing for uncertainty, that offer had been a fraction of the indicated value.
"And you declined?"
"I said I'd want an independent appraisal first."
My phone vibrated again. This time it was Grant.
Whatever happens with Tessa, the offer still stands. You can leave town with enough money to start over.
He had not offered his brother comfort.
He had offered him an exit price.
PART 3 — WHO PAID FOR ROOM 614?
By morning, strangers were discussing my wedding beneath a video someone had uploaded from the dinner.
The clip began with Avery holding the test and ended before Marjorie said Reed had been at the hospital. Whoever posted it had removed the only person offering a different account.
I set my phone facedown.
Wendy brought coffee and a list of vendors. She had already stopped the florist from delivering arrangements to the ceremony site and asked the musicians to wait for instructions.
"There will be costs," she said. "I'll document everything, and I'll ask each vendor what can be moved rather than lost."
I appreciated the absence of promises. Nothing about that morning needed another person telling me something would be fine without knowing.
Reed called his guests. I called mine, with Joan beside me for the calls I could not finish.
At nine, Marjorie invited us to her office.
She had changed into a gray cardigan and flat shoes. On her desk sat the framed photograph of her husband that Grant had displayed at the head table the previous night.
"I should explain how this business works," she said.