“My father died eleven years ago,” I told Grant. “Whatever business he owned was settled long before you met Claire.”

Grant shook his head.

“Not all of it.”

We were standing behind my car while wedding guests arrived in expensive dresses and polished shoes.

From the outside, everything looked perfect.

Inside, someone had forged my signature on a document involving a company I’d believed no longer existed.

“Explain,” I said.

Grant glanced at Diane.

“Can you make sure my mother doesn’t come outside?”

Diane nodded and hurried back toward the estate.

Grant opened a folder.

“My family has been trying to purchase this property for three years. The estate is worth almost nine million dollars, but there’s a problem with the ownership.”

“Which is?”

“Part of the property belongs to Whitmore Heritage Holdings.”

I stared at him.

“That’s impossible.”

“My mother’s lawyers discovered it during the purchase negotiations.”

He handed me an old survey.

The estate sat on forty-six acres.

The mansion, gardens, and reception hall occupied the eastern portion.

But a narrow strip of land ran directly through the main entrance, parking area, and access road.

It was marked in blue.

Whitmore Heritage Holdings.

“Your father owned the original access road,” Grant said. “The estate can’t be redeveloped without an agreement from whoever inherited that interest.”

I looked at the document.

“My father never mentioned this.”

“Maybe he had a reason.”

I remembered something.

When I was seventeen, Dad had brought Claire and me to a summer charity concert on this very property.

We’d sat beneath an enormous oak tree while he told us that some places should be protected from people who only saw dollar signs.

I’d forgotten that afternoon.

Until now.

“Why would Margaret need Claire?” I asked.

Grant hesitated.

“Because she believed Claire could convince you to sign away the land.”

“Then why push me out of the wedding?”

“Because you didn’t sign.”

He showed me another document.

A proposed settlement agreement.

It offered me seventy-five thousand dollars in exchange for transferring my inherited interest.

My signature was already on it.

So was Claire’s, as a witness.

The date was yesterday.

“That’s fraud,” I whispered.

“I know.”

“Did you know about this?”

Grant looked ashamed.

“I knew my mother wanted the property. I didn’t know she’d gone this far.”

I studied his face.

“And the marriage?”

He looked toward the windows.

“I love Claire. But my mother introduced us. She arranged our first meeting at a charity dinner and kept finding reasons for us to see each other.”

My chest tightened.

Claire had always described meeting Grant as fate.

Now I wondered how much of that fate had been arranged.

“Does Claire know?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Then why did she turn against me?”

Grant took a breath.

“Because my mother has been telling her for months that you’re jealous of her.”

I almost laughed.

“Jealous?”

“She told Claire you resented being single. That you were trying to control her wedding. That you’d been asking questions about my family because you didn’t want her to be happy.”

I thought of every strange disagreement we’d had over the past six months.

Every time Claire had accused me of being negative when I’d simply asked whether she was comfortable with Margaret’s decisions.

Every time she’d apologized later.

Margaret hadn’t destroyed our friendship in one afternoon.

She’d been weakening it for months.

My phone rang.

It was my attorney, Rebecca Hale.

I’d sent her photographs of the documents while Grant was speaking.

“Lauren,” she said immediately, “do not sign anything.”

“I haven’t.”

“Good. I’ve checked the county records. Your father placed that property interest into a trust.”

“What trust?”

“The Whitmore Family Preservation Trust.”

I went completely still.

Rebecca continued.

“You’re the primary beneficiary. But there is another named beneficiary whose interest becomes active under specific circumstances.”

“Who?”

She hesitated.

“Claire.”

I gripped the phone.

“Claire isn’t related to me.”

“I know. I’m trying to obtain the original trust agreement.”

Grant watched my expression change.

“What is it?”

I couldn’t answer.

Rebecca spoke again.

“Lauren, there’s something else. Someone submitted a request to dissolve the trust last week.”

“Who?”

“An attorney representing Margaret Bennett.”

The world seemed to tilt.

“Can she do that?”

“Not without the beneficiaries’ authorization. That’s why I’m concerned about the signatures you sent me.”

A cold realization settled over me.

Margaret hadn’t merely wanted to buy the land.

She’d been trying to use Claire and me to gain control of it.

And someone had decided that removing me from the wedding would make the rest easier.

“Rebecca, I need the original documents.”

“I’m sending someone to the county archives now.”

The call ended.

Grant looked sick.

“I didn’t know.”

“Then you’d better decide whether you want to find out.”

He looked toward the estate.

“My mother is inside.”

“So is Claire.”

For the first time since leaving the bridal suite, I knew exactly what I needed to do.

But before I could move, a black SUV pulled into the parking lot.

A man in a gray suit stepped out.

He carried a leather briefcase.

Grant recognized him immediately.

“That’s my mother’s attorney.”

The man approached us with an expression so calm it made me uneasy.

“Miss Whitmore,” he said. “I’ve been hoping to speak with you.”

He opened his briefcase and removed a sealed envelope.

“Your father left instructions concerning this property.”

I stared at him.

“Why would you have them?”

“Because Margaret Bennett was not the first person who tried to acquire the estate.”

He handed me the envelope.

Across the front, in my father’s unmistakable handwriting, were seven words.

FOR LAUREN, WHEN CLAIRE FINALLY GETS MARRIED.

My knees nearly gave way.

My father had died eleven years earlier.

He had never met Grant.

Yet somehow, he had left me a letter specifically connected to Claire’s wedding.

And when I opened it, the first sentence made me forget how to breathe.

Lauren, if Claire is standing at the altar without you, something has gone terribly wrong.