Chapter 2 - I did not sleep that night.At 2:17 a.m., I was still sitting alone in my workshop, staring at the forged signature.
My name had been copied with frightening precision.
Daniel Mercer.
The shape of the D.
The angle of the M.
Even the slight pressure mark before the final r.
Someone had studied my signature.
Someone close enough to me to know exactly how I signed legal documents.
I photographed every page.
Then I opened the property records on my laptop.
My house was still legally mine.
My workshop was still mine.
The trust was active.
Bayfront Pavilion was owned by Mercer Coastal Holdings Trust.
And I was its controlling trustee.
Victoria had never known.
Raymond had never known.
Sabrina had never known.
That was intentional.
Years ago, I had bought the struggling waterfront building through the trust.
It had started as an empty warehouse.
I renovated it quietly.
Within seven years, it became one of the most expensive wedding venues in the city.
Celebrities rented it.
Politicians held charity galas there.
Tech billionaires held private parties there.
Its monthly revenue had grown to six figures.
And tomorrow, my daughter was getting married there.
I leaned back.
Then my phone buzzed.
A message.
From Sabrina.
Dad, please don't come tomorrow.
I stared at the screen.
A second message appeared.
This is already stressful enough.
Then:
Raymond is my father. Please respect that.
I typed a reply.
Deleted it.
Typed again.
Deleted that too.
Finally, I sent only:
Okay.
Three dots appeared.
Then disappeared.
No explanation.
No apology.
Nothing.
I put the phone down.
At 5:41 a.m., I heard footsteps outside my workshop.
I froze.
The house was silent.
Victoria was supposedly asleep.
I quietly opened the workshop door.
No one was there.
But on the floor sat an envelope.
No stamp.
No address.
Just my name.
I opened it.
Inside was a single photograph.
It showed Raymond standing beside Victoria.
They were not alone.
A man I did not recognize stood between them.
Underneath the photograph was a handwritten message.
You should have listened when they told you to sign.
My stomach tightened.
I turned the photograph over.
Another sentence.
Ask Sabrina what happened at the marina.
The marina.
I knew exactly what that meant.
Three months earlier, Sabrina had asked me for $15,000 for the wedding.
I had transferred it immediately.
Two weeks later, she asked for another $8,000 because the venue had increased its fees.
I paid.
Then another $4,500 for photography.
Another $2,000 for flowers.
Another $5,700 for transportation.
It had never occurred to me to question any of it.
Because she was my daughter.
Because I had spent her entire life believing that whatever I could give her should be hers.
But now I wondered how much of the wedding was real.
At 7:10 a.m., I drove to Bayfront Pavilion.
The staff looked nervous when I entered through the service entrance.
The general manager, Marcus Reed, met me immediately.
“Mr. Mercer.”
“Is Sabrina's wedding still scheduled?”
Marcus nodded.
“Of course.”
“Who paid the remaining balance?”
He hesitated.
“Your family.”
“My family?”
“Ms. Victoria called yesterday.”
“What did she tell you?”
Marcus lowered his voice.
“She said you were not authorized to make changes.”
I looked at him.
“Who told you that?”
“She did.”
I smiled.
“Marcus, do you know who owns this building?”
He blinked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Who?”
He paused.
“Mercer Coastal Holdings Trust.”
“Good.”
His expression changed.
Then he understood.
“You're the trustee.”
“Yes.”
He swallowed.
“What do you want me to do?”
“Nothing.”
He looked confused.
“Nothing?”
“Let the wedding happen.”
His eyebrows rose.
“Sir?”
“I want every guest inside.”
“Why?”
I looked toward the glass windows overlooking the ocean.
Because my daughter had chosen the stage.
And now I was going to choose the ending.
“Just make sure the security cameras are recording.”
Marcus nodded.
Then I asked one more question.
“Did anyone access the bridal suite last night?”
He checked his tablet.
“Yes.”
“Who?”
His face changed.
“Sabrina.”
“Anyone else?”
He hesitated.
“Raymond.”
“What did they do?”
Marcus looked uncomfortable.
“They opened the wall safe.”
I stared at him.
“There is no wall safe in the bridal suite.”
Marcus frowned.
“There was last night.”
My blood ran cold.
“Show me.”
We walked upstairs.
The bridal suite door was locked.
Marcus opened it.
The room looked untouched.
Flowers.
Mirrors.
Champagne.
White chairs.
Then I noticed the painting above the fireplace.
It had been moved.
Behind it was a small steel compartment.
Empty.
Except for one sheet of paper.
I picked it up.
My name was written at the top.
Underneath were four words.
You were never her father.
I looked at Marcus.
Then at the security camera above the hallway.
The camera light was off.
“Who disabled this?”
Marcus checked the system.
His face turned pale.
“Sir…”
“What?”
“The camera wasn't disabled.”
He swallowed.
“It was replaced.”
I stared at him.
“When?”
“Last night.”
“By whom?”
Marcus looked at the security log.
May you like
Then slowly raised his eyes.
“By someone with your access code.”
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