Chapter 4: The Women Before Me
We found a small room off the main corridor — a coat room, mostly empty, lit by a single overhead bulb.
Julian closed the door behind us.
I opened the envelope.
Inside were three photographs and a folded document.
The photographs were all women.
Different ages, different faces.
Each one had a name and a date written on the back in Sophia's careful handwriting.
The first: *Renata.
2017.*
The second: *Diane.
2019.*
The third: *Claire.
2021.*
My own name.
My own face.
A photograph I had never seen before, taken from a distance, outside the coffee shop I used to go to every morning when I was still married to Mason.
I had been documented.
Filed.
Categorized alongside the others.
"He keeps records," Julian said.
"Not of his victims.
Of his process.
What worked.
What didn't.
How long each relationship lasted before they started asking questions."
"How did Sophia get these?"
"She found them." He leaned against the wall.
"About six weeks ago.
In a folder on his laptop.
She wasn't supposed to see it — she was looking for a shared document he'd mentioned.
She found the folder instead."
"And she didn't call off the wedding."
"She couldn't." He said it simply, without judgment.
"Her father's estate is tied up in a trust that releases when she marries.
Mason knew that before he ever asked her out.
That was the whole point of me — to confirm the exact amount and the exact conditions."
I set the photographs down on the shelf beside me.
"So he married her for the trust."
"For the trust.
And because she'd seen the folder.
Calling off the wedding meant she'd talk.
Marrying her meant she was legally his family, which made certain conversations much more complicated for her."
"That's not a marriage," I said.
"That's a trap."
"Yes."
I picked up the folded document.
It was a single page — a transfer agreement.
Mason's name.
A company name I didn't recognize.
A number with six figures.
Signed and dated three weeks before the wedding.
"What is this?"
"He moved money," Julian said.
"From a joint account he'd set up with Sophia during the engagement — she thought it was for the house they were going to buy.
He transferred it to a private account two days after she found the folder."
"He knew she'd found it."
"He knew.
And he moved fast."
I stared at the document.
"He did the same thing to me," I said.
It came out quieter than I intended.
"Not this exactly.
But — there was money that disappeared in the last year of our marriage.
I could never prove where it went.
My lawyer said it would cost more to chase it than it was worth."
Julian looked at me steadily.
"Renata said the same thing.
So did Diane."
"You spoke to them?"
"Sophia did.
After she found the folder.
She tracked them down." He paused.
"They're both willing to make statements.
They've been waiting for someone else to come forward first."
Something shifted in my chest.
Not anger exactly.
Something colder and more useful than anger.
"Sophia planned this," I said.
"The paper in the bouquet.
The envelope.
She knew I was coming."
"She saw your name on the guest list two weeks ago.
She looked you up." He met my eyes.
"She chose you, Claire.
Out of the three of you, she thought you were the one most likely to do something about it."
"Why?"
"Because you came today." A small, careful pause.
"You came alone — or you were supposed to.
And you came anyway.
She said that told her something about you."
I looked at the photographs again.
Renata.
Diane.
Claire.
Three women.
Three versions of the same story.
Three different years, same man, same method, same silence at the end.
"What does Sophia want?" I asked.
"She wants out," Julian said.
"Legally, safely, and with enough documentation that he can't retaliate."
"And what do you want?"
He was quiet for a moment.
"I want to finish what I should have done eight months ago," he said.
"When he first hired me and I told myself it was just a job." He looked at the floor.
"It wasn't just a job.
I knew that by the third week.
I just kept going anyway."
"Why are you telling me this now?"
"Because Sophia asked me to." He looked up.
"And because you deserved to know before I asked you what I'm about to ask you."
The overhead bulb hummed faintly.
"What are you about to ask me?" I said.
"Whether you'll help us," he said.
"All three of you.
Together.
Because individually, Mason can dismiss each of you.
But together — with the documents, with the transfer record, with the photographs — you become something he can't explain away."
I thought about the handwritten note at the bottom of the wedding invitation.
*I hope you'll come alone.
I think that would be best for everyone.*
He had been so certain I would be manageable.
So certain I would stand quietly in the corner and absorb whatever he wanted me to feel.
"Tell me what you need," I said.
Julian nodded once.
Then his phone buzzed.
He looked at the screen.
His expression changed.
"Mason just left the reception," he said.
May you like
"He told the venue coordinator there was a family emergency." He turned the phone so I could see the message.
"He's heading to the bank."
