Chapter 5: What Curtis Webb Knew
I followed Curtis Webb into the corridor.
He was fast for a man in dress shoes, already past the catering station and heading toward the administrative wing.
I kept my pace even.
There was no reason to run.
He had nowhere to go that I hadn't already been.
He turned a corner and stopped when he saw me behind him.
"Mr.
Harlan," he said.
He had the voice of a man who expected to be believed.
"Mr.
Webb," I said.
"I looked up your firm."
"I'm here as a guest."
"You're here as Raymond's attorney.
The trust restructuring work — how long have you been advising him?"
He straightened his jacket.
"I'm not going to discuss client matters."
"You don't have to," I said.
"Donald Marsh already pulled the filing history this morning.
The application to challenge the trust structure was submitted eight weeks ago.
Your firm's name is on the cover page."
His expression didn't change, but he stopped adjusting his jacket.
"That application was rejected," I said.
"I assume Raymond didn't tell you I had already spoken to the trust administrator in February.
They flagged the inquiry and called me the same afternoon it arrived."
Webb said nothing.
"Here's what I want to know," I said.
"Did Raymond tell you the properties were already double-secured?
Or did he let you file that application without the full picture?"
A pause.
"I'd need to review the documents before—"
"He didn't tell you," I said.
Webb looked at the wall beside me.
It was a small movement, barely anything.
But it was enough.
"Your client brought you here today expecting to use the venue contract as leverage," I said.
"He planned to approach me during the reception, with you present, and propose an arrangement.
My signature on a transfer in exchange for — what?
A quiet exit?
A settlement?"
"I'm not in a position to—"
"He was going to offer me money," I said.
"My own money, filtered back to me as a gesture of goodwill.
And you were going to witness the agreement."
Webb's jaw tightened.
"You can go back inside," I said.
"But I want you to tell Raymond something for me.
Tell him the venue contract has a clause he missed.
Section nine, paragraph four.
The trust holder may suspend or terminate the event agreement at any time prior to the ceremony's conclusion, for any reason, without financial penalty, provided written notice is delivered to the venue manager no less than thirty minutes before the event begins."
Webb stared at me.
"The ceremony starts in fourteen minutes," I said.
"I have already drafted the notice.
I have not yet sent it."
I let that sit between us.
"What do you want?" Webb said.
His voice had changed.
The courtroom confidence was still there, but underneath it something had shifted — the sound of a man recalculating.
"I want a conversation," I said.
"With Raymond.
Before the ceremony.
No lawyers, no witnesses, no recording.
Just the two of us."
"He won't agree to that."
"Then the notice goes to Gerald Foss in thirteen minutes," I said.
"And two hundred guests find out the wedding isn't happening.
In this building.
Today."
Webb pulled out his phone.
I walked back toward the main hall and sat down in my seat.
Four minutes later, Raymond appeared at the end of the row.
He was still in his wedding suit — ivory jacket, white shirt, the boutonniere my daughter had probably chosen herself.
He was composed in the way men are composed when they are frightened and refuse to show it.
He sat down one seat away from me.
"Curtis said you wanted to talk," he said.
"I did," I said.
"Thank you for coming."
He looked at the altar.
The officiant had taken his position.
The music was still playing softly, guests still settling.
"You're not going to stop this wedding," Raymond said.
"I haven't decided yet," I said.
He turned to look at me for the first time.
His eyes were steady, calculating.
He was younger than I expected up close — mid-thirties, the kind of young that still believed intelligence was the same as wisdom.
"What do you want?" he said.
"I want you to tell me," I said, "whose idea it was to put Elaine's name on the account."
Something moved across his face.
Gone in an instant, but I had been watching for it.
"I don't know what account you mean," he said.
"Raymond," I said quietly.
"I have the statements.
I have the dates.
I have your mother's account number and the routing records.
What I don't have yet is the conversation where someone decided it was a good idea."
He said nothing.
"Was it yours?" I asked.
"Or did someone tell you this was how it was done?"
He stood up.
"The ceremony starts in ten minutes," he said.
"Eight," I said.
"And I still haven't sent the notice."
May you like
He walked back toward the front of the hall without answering.
But his hands, when he straightened his jacket, were not entirely steady.
