Chapter 3 - WHAT VICTORIA KNEWBy nine fifteen, the ballroom no longer looked like a wedding.
“This is ridiculous.”
Her voice echoed through the ballroom.
For the first time that evening, nobody rushed to reassure her.
Charles Ashford stepped toward me.
“Nathan, let's discuss this privately.”
“No.”
His jaw tightened.
“You are embarrassing my daughter.”
I almost laughed.
“She spent five minutes doing exactly that to me.”
“This is different.”
“Because I'm supposed to know my place?”
Charles didn't answer.
Victoria tore the first page in half.
“There. Whatever stupid stunt this is, it's finished.”
She dropped the pieces.
I looked at them on the floor.
“Paper tears. Contracts don't.”
Her face reddened.
“My father owns Ashford Capital.”
“No,” I said.
Charles froze.
Victoria slowly turned toward him.
“What does he mean?”
Her father reached for her elbow.
“Not here.”
She pulled away.
“Answer me.”
Around us, the elite guests who had spent the evening admiring the Ashfords suddenly became fascinated by their champagne glasses.
Charles lowered his voice.
“Ashford Capital experienced some liquidity problems.”
“When?”
He hesitated.
“Three years ago.”
The exact year Victoria and I had started dating.
Her eyes narrowed.
“How serious?”
Charles didn't answer.
I did.
“Serious enough that the company would have missed payroll.”
Victoria looked at me.
“Why would you know that?”
“Because Charles came to me.”
Charles's face hardened.
“That conversation was confidential.”
“It stopped being confidential when your daughter publicly described me as your family's charity case.”
Victoria stepped backward.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I would've known.”
“You were in Paris.”
Her lips parted.
I remembered that summer clearly.
Victoria had called me from a hotel balcony overlooking the Seine, complaining that her father's credit card had been declined at a jewelry boutique.
She'd laughed about it.
A banking error, she'd said.
Two days later, Charles Ashford had sat across from me in my office asking for sixty million dollars.
He'd been shaking.
At the time, I loved Victoria.
I believed helping her father meant protecting the woman I intended to marry.
So Mercer Holdings had acquired the distressed debt through a subsidiary.
Ashford Capital survived.
Charles kept his title.
Victoria kept believing her father was untouchable.
And then the requests began.
Ten million to refinance a building.
Four million to rescue a failing development.
Payments to preserve club memberships.
Money for charitable events that couldn't afford to fail publicly.
Charles always had an explanation.
One more quarter.
One more deal.
One more bridge loan.
I kept agreeing because Victoria never knew.
At least, that was what I believed.
“You saved his company?” Victoria whispered.
“For a while.”
“For a while?”
“Your father owes Mercer Holdings eighty-seven million dollars.”
Gasps rippled through the ballroom.
Charles snapped, “Enough.”
“No,” Victoria said.
She turned on him.
“You told me last month we were having our strongest year.”
Charles's face aged ten years in a second.
“We were negotiating.”
“With him?”
“Yes.”
Victoria looked at me.
There was no gratitude in her expression.
Only rage.
“You let me look like an idiot.”
I blinked.
“You're angry at me?”
“You knew.”
“I was protecting your father.”
“You were secretly controlling us!”
“I never controlled you.”
“You paid for our apartment.”
“Because Charles asked me to.”
“My car?”
“Your father's accounts were frozen.”
“The Hamptons house?”
“Rented.”
She stared at Charles.
“You said you bought it.”
Charles whispered her name.
She backed away.
“Don't touch me.”
Then she turned on me again.
“You enjoyed this.”
“What?”
“Watching me believe my family was wealthy.”
“No.”
“You must have.”
I stared at her.
“Victoria, I proposed to you when I thought you loved me.”
She laughed bitterly.
“Don't make yourself the victim.”
My mother stood.
That surprised everyone.
Margaret Mercer was sixty-two, five-foot-four, and had spent thirty-seven years teaching second grade.
She hated confrontation.
But she walked toward us now.
“That's enough,” she said.
Victoria looked at her.
“Stay out of this.”
My mother stopped.
A coldness entered her eyes I'd rarely seen.
“Nathan paid off my mortgage fifteen years ago. I made him reverse the payment.”
Victoria frowned.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Because I taught my son something your father apparently didn't teach you.”
Charles stiffened.
Margaret continued.
“Money can help people. But once you start using it to decide who's worthy of respect, it owns you.”
Victoria stared at her.
Then laughed.
“You came to my wedding wearing a department-store dress.”
The room went still again.
My mother's face barely changed.
But mine did.
Victoria saw it.
She realized, too late, that she had crossed another line.
“Nathan—”
“Take off the ring.”
Her hand flew toward the diamond.
“What?”
“Our marriage license hasn't been filed.”
That was intentional.
My attorney had discovered something forty-eight hours earlier.
Something that had made me delay filing.
Victoria didn't know that yet.
“What are you talking about?”
“I told the officiant to hold the license.”
Her face drained.
Charles stared at me.
“Why?”
I reached inside my jacket again.
This time, I removed a second envelope.
Victoria's eyes widened.
“What now?”
“I received something Tuesday.”
She didn't take it.
So I opened it myself.
Inside were photographs.
Victoria leaving a hotel.
Victoria entering a car.
Victoria kissing a man I recognized.
The man currently standing ten feet behind Charles Ashford.
Alexander Crane.
Victoria's ex-boyfriend.
And the chief investment officer of her father's company.
The room erupted into whispers.
Victoria looked over her shoulder.
Alexander had gone pale.
I placed the photographs on the table.
“Would either of you like to explain?”
Victoria's mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
Alexander stepped forward.
“This isn't what it looks like.”
I actually smiled.
“People only say that when it's exactly what it looks like.”
“It was one evening.”
Victoria stared at him.
“Shut up.”
Interesting.
I looked between them.
“One evening?”
Alexander stopped.
Victoria shook her head.
“Nathan, we can discuss this.”
“Apparently we discuss things privately now.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
Whether they were real didn't matter anymore.
“I made a mistake.”
“How long?”
“It doesn't matter.”
“How long?”
She whispered, “Seven months.”
My mother closed her eyes.
Charles muttered a curse.
I felt no dramatic punch.
No rage.
I'd already experienced all of that Tuesday night.
Now there was only clarity.
“Seven months,” I repeated.
Victoria stepped closer.
“I was confused.”
“You were planning our wedding.”
“You were always working.”
“I was trying to keep your father's company alive.”
“I didn't ask you to!”
“No. You were too busy telling everyone your father was paying for everything.”
That silenced her.
Then Alexander did something stupid.
He tried to leave.
Two men in dark suits appeared near the ballroom doors.
They weren't guards.
They were federal investigators.
Charles Ashford recognized one of them.
His champagne glass slipped from his hand.
It shattered on the marble.
Victoria jumped.
I looked at her father.
“That's the other reason the license hasn't been filed.”
Charles whispered, “What did you do?”
“Nothing.”
The lead investigator crossed the ballroom.
“Charles Ashford?”
Every guest watched.
“Yes?”
“My name is Special Agent David Monroe.”
Charles's face went gray.
“We need to ask you some questions concerning Ashford Capital.”
Victoria looked at me.
“Nathan?”
I shook my head.
“I didn't call them.”
Agent Monroe turned toward Alexander.
“Mr. Crane, we'll need you as well.”
Alexander ran.
He made it six steps.
Two agents caught him before he reached the service corridor.
Guests screamed.
Victoria stood frozen in her wedding gown.
Her father was escorted toward a side room.
Her lover was placed in handcuffs.
And suddenly everyone who had arrived believing the Ashfords were one of Manhattan's most powerful families understood something they had never imagined.
The wedding wasn't falling apart because of me.
It was falling apart because somebody had built their entire life on lies.
Victoria looked at the white envelope still clutched in her hand.
Then at me.
“What happens to me now?”
I answered carefully.
“That depends on what else you've been hiding.”
May you like
Her expression changed.
And that was when I knew there was more.
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