After ending the call, I opened the wedding folder in my office. The original bank transfer was there, dated May fourteenth, along with an email from Imogen Whitcombe confirming that the balance had been paid in full. There was no second contract and no additional agreement bearing my signature. Something was terribly wrong.

I called Mrs. Whitcombe immediately. Her voice sounded unusually serious. “Colette, I was hoping you would call,” she said. Then she explained that a security camera at the estate’s entrance had recorded the afternoon of the wedding, including sound. She had recently reviewed the footage and discovered something disturbing. Eleven days before the ceremony, Cassandra’s father, Desmond Pryce, had signed an expensive addendum covering fireworks, an orchestra, an extended open bar, and extravagant decorations. The additional cost was sixty-eight thousand dollars. But someone had written my name on the guarantor line. I had never agreed to pay it. I had never even seen the document. And Mrs. Whitcombe had something else to tell me.

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