PART 3
For thirty-two years, my family had taught me that being important meant being surrounded by important people.
That morning, I had learned something different.
Sometimes the most important person in your life was the one who noticed you were alone.
I climbed into the car.
The interior was nothing like the town car we had rented.
Cream leather.
Polished wood.
A chilled bottle of sparkling water.
And on the seat beside me was a small envelope.
My name was written across it.
Abby.
I opened it.
Inside was a handwritten note.
I know today isn’t what you imagined.
But don’t look at the empty seats.
Look at the person waiting at the end of the aisle.
I love you.
—Lincoln
I pressed the note against my chest.
Then the chauffeur closed the door.
As the car pulled away, my phone buzzed.
A message from Chelsea.
I almost ignored it.
Then another.
And another.
I finally looked.
Chelsea: You really went through with it?
I stared at the message.
Then another appeared.
Chelsea: Dad says you’re making a huge mistake.
I locked my phone.
For once, I wasn’t going to spend my wedding day defending my life.
The sedan turned toward downtown.
But instead of heading toward the small church where Lincoln and I had planned our ceremony, it drove toward Boston Harbor.
I frowned.
“This isn’t the church.”
The chauffeur glanced at me through the mirror.
“I know.”
“Where are we going?”
“I was instructed not to tell you.”
“By Lincoln?”
“No, ma’am.”
He smiled.
“By Mr. Lincoln’s employer.”
I sat up.
“His employer?”
Before I could ask another question, my phone began vibrating again.
This time, it wasn’t Chelsea.
It was one of my coworkers.
Then another.
Then another.
Within less than a minute, my screen was filled with notifications.
Abby, are you seeing this?
Call me immediately.
Something is happening at the hotel.
Your sister is freaking out.
I opened the first video.
It was only twelve seconds long.
The footage was shaky, clearly recorded on someone’s phone.
It showed the ballroom where Chelsea and Kendrick were holding their extravagant vow-renewal ceremony.
Hundreds of guests were arriving.
Luxury cars lined the entrance.
Photographers crowded the red carpet.
Everything looked exactly as my family had wanted.
Then the camera moved toward the ballroom entrance.
A security employee stood near the doors.
Someone whispered behind the camera.
“Wait… isn’t that Abby’s fiancé?”
The video zoomed in.
My breath caught.
Lincoln.
But he wasn’t wearing the navy-blue security uniform I had seen every day.
He was wearing a perfectly tailored black suit.
And beside him stood three men in expensive suits.
The person filming whispered:
“Who the hell is that?”
Then the video ended.
I watched it twice.
Then three times.
My hands started shaking.
I called my coworker.
She answered immediately.
“Abby!”
“What is happening?”
“Where are you?”
“On the way to my wedding.”
“Listen to me. Don’t panic.”
“That usually means I should panic.”
She laughed nervously.
“You need to see the video.”
“I already did.”
“No. You need to understand what you’re looking at.”
“What do you mean?”
There was a pause.
Then she said something that made my stomach drop.
“Abby… that isn’t Lincoln’s boss.”
“What?”
“The man standing beside him is Richard Cross.”
I stopped breathing.
“Richard Cross?”
“Yes.”
I knew that name.
Everyone in Boston’s business community knew that name.
Richard Cross was the founder and CEO of Cross Global Holdings.
A man who almost never appeared publicly without a security team around him.
A billionaire investor.
The same company Kendrick had spent months bragging about.
The same company he claimed was considering backing his fund.
I looked at the video again.
Lincoln was standing beside Richard Cross.
Not behind him.
Not guarding him.
Beside him.
Like an equal.
“Are you sure?”
My coworker lowered her voice.
“Abby, I work in the same building as you. I’ve seen Mr. Cross at least twice. That’s definitely him.”
I stared out the window.
The harbor appeared in the distance.
Something had been wrong from the beginning.
The questions Lincoln asked at my parents’ dinner.
His knowledge of corporate structures.
His reaction when Kendrick mentioned Cross Global.
The chauffeur.
The mysterious employer.
The luxury sedan.
And now Richard Cross.
My mind began connecting pieces I hadn’t even realized existed.
“Why would Lincoln know Richard Cross?”
My coworker didn’t answer.
Instead she said:
“There’s more.”
“What?”
“The hotel just went into lockdown.”
My stomach tightened.
“Why?”
“I don’t know. But apparently someone from Cross Global arrived, and Kendrick’s people are refusing to let them into the ballroom.”
I sat forward.
“Why?”
“Because they’re saying Kendrick has been using Cross Global’s name without authorization.”
Silence filled the car.
I whispered:
“What?”
My coworker continued.
“Apparently Kendrick told investors that Cross Global had committed to funding his new investment vehicle.”
I closed my eyes.
“He told us that.”
“Well, apparently that’s not true.”
I looked down at my wedding invitation sitting beside me.
The same invitation my family had rejected.
The same family that had chosen Chelsea’s glamorous event instead.
And suddenly I understood why Kendrick had needed that ballroom full.
Why he had needed important people there.
Why Chelsea had insisted my wedding would ruin everything.
It wasn’t just about appearances.
They were selling something.
A promise.
An investment.
A reputation.
And apparently, they had built the entire thing around a lie.
The sedan slowed.
I looked through the window.
We weren’t at the church.
We weren’t even at the hotel.
We were entering a private marina.
“What are we doing here?”
The chauffeur parked beside a small private dock.
Before I could ask anything else, a man in a dark suit approached the car.
He opened my door.
“Ms. Mercer.”
“Yes?”
“Mr. Lincoln is waiting for you.”
I stepped out.
“Where?”
The man pointed toward the water.
A white boat sat at the dock.
And standing on the deck was Lincoln.
He was still wearing the black suit from the video.
But now I could see something else.
He looked nervous.
For the first time since I had met him, the man who always seemed completely composed was visibly anxious.
He walked toward me.
“I owe you an explanation.”
I crossed my arms.
“I think you owe me several.”
He nodded.
“You’re right.”
“Who is Richard Cross?”
Lincoln looked toward the harbor.
“My father.”
I stared at him.
