Silence.
“That’s going to be difficult.”
“Do it anyway.”
“Mom.”
“If she had something to do with this, confrontation before evidence helps her.”
“If she didn’t, accusing her destroys your wedding over a suspicion.”
He breathed out.
“Okay.”
“Do you trust me?”
“Yes.”
“Then get ready.”
“For my wedding?”
“For the truth.”
I ended the call.
The doctor arrived.
No signs of serious injury.
No obvious chemical sedation.
Blood was drawn anyway.
Police arrived through the service corridor.
Statements.
Photographs.
The hotel pulled electronic lock data.
At 8:16 a.m., security returned with the first concrete fact.
My suite door had opened at 2:07 a.m.
Using a master guest-services credential.
The credential belonged to a temporary overnight hospitality assistant assigned to the wedding floor.
The assistant had clocked out at 1:45.
Security footage showed her lending her keycard to someone at approximately 1:58.
The camera angle did not show the borrower’s face clearly.
But it showed clothing.
White satin robe.
Long black hair.
Slender figure.
Wedding-party attire.
My pulse increased.
The bride and bridesmaids had matching white satin robes for morning photographs.
That proved very little.
Dozens had been delivered.
But the security director found another camera.
Service elevator.
2:03 a.m.
A woman entered with her back to the camera.
White robe.
Hair covered partly by a hood.
She carried something in one hand.
Small.
Rectangular.
The video resolution was not good enough to identify clippers.
But it could have been.
At 2:11, she exited the floor.
Eight minutes.
My suite door had been open for six.
“Can you identify her?”
the officer asked.
“No.”
“Body shape?”
“I’m not guessing.”
He nodded approvingly.
Good.
At 8:42, my attorney sent confirmation.
ALL TRANSFERS SUSPENDED. NO FUNDS OR TITLE WILL MOVE WITHOUT YOUR WRITTEN AUTHORIZATION.
I stared at the message.
Twenty-two million dollars had stopped less than four hours before it was scheduled to change hands.
I felt relief.
Then shame at feeling relief.
Because if the bride was innocent, I had paused a gift based partly on fear.
But pausing was reversible.
Sending was not.
At nine, my son called again.
“I found the sister.”
“What did she say?”
“She wants to talk in person.”
“Where?”
“Service café on thirty-two.”
“Do not go alone.”
“Mom.”
“Not because I think she’s dangerous.”
“Because witnesses protect everyone.”
He sighed.
“I’m bringing my best man.”
“Good.”
Then he asked:
“Are you still coming to the wedding?”
I looked into the mirror.
My uneven scalp.
My half-destroyed hairstyle.
The note beside the sink.
“Yes.”
He said nothing.
“Did you hear me?”
“Yes.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I thought you’d stay upstairs.”
I smiled without humor.