Chapter 1 - THE NAME THAT DESTROYED MY LAST ILLUSION
The signature beneath Brooklyn Hayes's name belonged to Natalie Brooks.
My best friend.
My maid of honor.
The woman I had trusted with every secret I was too frightened to tell anyone else.
For several seconds, I couldn't make sense of what I was seeing. The letters were familiar, especially the exaggerated loop in the N and the tiny flourish Natalie always added beneath her last name. I had seen that signature on birthday cards, apartment leases, wedding invitations, and the paperwork we signed when we became godparents to each other's children.
Except I didn't have children.
Natalie had a nine-year-old daughter named Iris, and I loved that little girl almost as fiercely as Natalie did.
Now my friend's signature was sitting on a document connected to a plan to abduct me, force an eight-million-dollar debt onto my shoulders, and steal one of my kidneys.
I looked at my father across the black leather seats of the SUV.
"Tell me that's a forgery."
William Prescott didn't answer immediately.
Outside the tinted windows, downtown San Diego was waking up. Office workers crossed intersections carrying coffee. Delivery trucks stopped beside restaurants. A woman in running clothes laughed into her phone while waiting for the traffic light.
The world continued normally, indifferent to the fact that mine had just collapsed.
"Charlotte," my father said carefully, "we haven't authenticated that signature yet."
"But you think it's hers."
"We have reason to believe Natalie helped obtain your private medical information."
My mother closed her eyes.
"Oh, God."
I stared at the paper again.
Natalie worked as a patient access coordinator at Mercy Point Medical Group. Two years earlier, when I had been having persistent migraines, she helped me schedule appointments and navigate my insurance coverage.
She knew my allergies, my medical history, and the names of the doctors I had visited.
She had once held my hand through a frightening medical examination.
And three months earlier, she had sat at my kitchen table, helping me choose wedding invitations.
I remembered her smiling when Christian entered the room.
You're lucky, Charlotte. He absolutely adores you.
The memory made my stomach turn.
"How long?" I whispered.
My father leaned forward.
"How long what?"
"How long have you suspected something was wrong?"
He glanced at my mother.
That tiny movement told me more than any answer could have.
"Six weeks," he admitted.
I felt a sudden surge of anger.
"Six weeks?"
"We discovered irregular payments between Nexus Tech and several companies connected to a private financing operation. At first, we thought Christian was hiding corporate debts."
"And you didn't tell me?"
"I didn't have proof that you were personally involved."
I looked down at my wedding dress. The cheap satin had wrinkled around my knees. Only an hour earlier, I had been afraid Christian might notice that my borrowed pearl earrings didn't match the dress perfectly.
Now I was wondering how many people had known I was walking toward a trap.
"You could have warned me," I said.
My father's expression changed.
"I know."
For the first time in my life, I saw something unfamiliar in William Prescott's eyes.
Shame.
He had built an investment empire by recognizing danger before other people noticed it. He had negotiated through financial crises, hostile acquisitions, and lawsuits involving fortunes most people couldn't imagine.
But when danger reached his daughter, he had hesitated.
"I thought I could establish the facts before hurting you," he said.
"You were worried about breaking my heart."
"Yes."
"Well, congratulations, Dad. They almost broke the rest of me."
He lowered his gaze.
My mother reached for my hand.
"Charlotte, we're going to protect you."
I gently pulled away.
"I need you to help me protect myself."
Before either parent could answer, my phone vibrated.
Natalie.
For a terrifying moment, I wondered whether she knew I had escaped.
Her message was brief.
NATALIE: Where are you? Christian says you're missing. Please answer me.
I stared at the screen.
My father watched my expression.
"Who is it?"
"Natalie."
"Don't respond until the police advise you."
I wanted to throw the phone out the window. Instead, I read the message again, searching for some sign of the person I thought I knew.
There was none.
Then a second message appeared.
NATALIE: Please, Charlotte. I need to know you're safe.
Something about those words made me hesitate.
If Natalie had willingly helped Christian, why would she be worried about my safety?
Unless she was trying to locate me.
Or unless she was frightened of someone else.
I turned the tablet toward my father.
"Look at the timestamp on that medical document."
He studied it.
"Yesterday afternoon."
"At 3:42?"
"Yes."
"That's when Natalie was at my apartment."
My mother frowned.
"She told us she was helping with your wedding flowers."
"She was."
I remembered Natalie carrying a garment bag into my bedroom. She had insisted I try on my dress one final time while she arranged something in the kitchen.
Christian had called twice during that visit.
Natalie hadn't answered either time.
I had assumed she was busy.
Now I wondered whether she had been afraid to speak.
My father retrieved his phone.
"We need to give this information to Detective Ortiz."
"Who?"
"Elena Ortiz. She's the detective responding to what happened at your apartment. Our security director has already spoken with the police."
Minutes later, we met Detective Ortiz in a secure conference room at a nearby hotel. She was a composed woman in her early forties, wearing a dark blazer over a plain shirt. Her expression was serious without being unkind.
She listened while I explained the recordings, Christian's threats, the suspicious documents, and Natalie's connection to my medical records.
Then she asked a question that made everything feel suddenly real.
"Charlotte, has Christian ever threatened you physically before?"
I opened my mouth.
Nothing came out.
"No," I finally said.
Then I remembered something.
"Three weeks ago, he asked whether I had ever considered being an organ donor."
Detective Ortiz stopped writing.
"What exactly did he say?"
"He told me Brooklyn's brother was very sick. He asked whether I'd be willing to help someone if I were a match."
"And what did you tell him?"
"I said I'd speak to a doctor if there was a legitimate way to help."
My voice cracked.
"He kissed me afterward. He told me I was the kindest woman he'd ever met."
I looked at the detective.
"Was he already planning this?"
She didn't pretend to know.
"That's what we're going to investigate."
She explained that the threatening recording and the attempted break-in were serious evidence, but determining the full extent of the conspiracy would take time. Officers were securing my apartment and attempting to locate the men involved.
I asked whether Christian had been arrested.
"Not yet," she answered.
He had apparently left the building before responding officers arrived.
My father spoke sharply.
"He's going to the wedding venue."
Ortiz nodded.
"We're aware."
I looked toward the window.
The ceremony was supposed to begin in less than two hours.
The hotel would already be preparing the ballroom. Guests would be arriving. Christian would be smiling, greeting people, and pretending the entire morning was normal.
An idea formed.
"I need to go there."
My mother immediately objected.
"Absolutely not."
"Charlotte," my father said, "you don't need to confront him."
"I'm not going to confront him alone."
Detective Ortiz studied me.
"Why do you want to go?"
I held up my phone.
"Because Natalie is there. She's my maid of honor, and she's connected to those documents. If she disappears, we might lose our chance to learn what happened."
The detective considered the situation.
"I can have officers locate her. You do not need to put yourself in danger."
I knew she was right.
But before I could respond, another message arrived.
This one wasn't from Christian.
It was from Natalie.
NATALIE: Charlotte, listen carefully. Whatever Christian tells you, don't believe him.
A second message followed.
NATALIE: I never wanted this to happen.
Then a third.
NATALIE: They have Iris.
My blood turned cold.
I showed the detective.
Her expression immediately hardened.
"How old is Iris?"
"Nine."
"Where is she supposed to be right now?"
"At school."
Ortiz reached for her phone.
I stared at Natalie's message, the name of a little girl I loved glowing on the screen.
A final message appeared.
NATALIE: Please don't come to the wedding. The man standing beside the flowers works for Frank.
May you like
And suddenly, I understood something far more frightening than my best friend's betrayal.
Christian's wedding wasn't just a trap for me. It was a trap for anyone who might help me escape.
