Chapter 1 - The second document was not a marriage contract.
It was a guardianship petition.
For several seconds, I stared at the pages without understanding what I was seeing.
My name appeared near the top.
So did Tommy’s and Rose’s.
“What is this?”
I asked.
The tall man at our kitchen table remained expressionless.
“A condition Mr.
Wexler insisted upon.”
Dad looked as confused as I felt.
I flipped to the second page.
Temporary financial guardianship in the event of Walter Preston’s inability to provide stable housing or meet essential obligations.
My eyes moved faster.
Medical expenses.
School tuition.
Housing protections.
A trust account for Tommy and Rose.
Then one sentence stopped me.
No funds provided by Simon Wexler may be used to satisfy Walter Preston’s personal debts.
I raised my head.
“He’s protecting them from Dad?”
The man folded his hands.
“He is protecting money intended for children from becoming gambling money.”
Dad flinched.
For once, I didn’t defend him.
“What does this have to do with me marrying Simon?”
“That is something Mr.
Wexler prefers to explain himself.”
“Convenient.”
“He expected you to say that.”
I looked at Dad.
He was standing beside the staircase with one hand gripping the railing.
“How long have you known about this?”
“I didn’t.”
That answer sounded true, which somehow frightened me more.
The stranger slid a business card across the table.
“Tomorrow at eleven.
Wexler Shipping offices.
Pier 38.”
I stared at it.
“You said wedding.”
“Yes.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
I laughed once because the alternative was crying.
“You people schedule marriages like appliance deliveries?”
For the first time, something almost resembling amusement touched his face.
“Mr.
Wexler has been accused of worse organizational habits.”
Then he stood.
At the door, I stopped him.
“What’s your name?”
“Daniel Mercer.”
“And what exactly are you?
Lawyer?
Debt collector?”
“Chief financial officer.”
That surprised me.
I had imagined Simon Wexler surrounded by men whose job descriptions were never printed on business cards.
Daniel glanced toward my father.
“Miss Preston, some stories grow larger than the people inside them.
I would advise you not to decide who Simon Wexler is based on stories.”
Then he left.
I slept less than an hour.
At dawn, I made pancakes for Tommy and Rose because routine was the only thing I still trusted.
Rose sat at the table swinging her feet.
“Why are you dressed nice?”
I looked down at the blue dress I had bought two years earlier for a cousin’s graduation.
“I have an appointment.”
Tommy frowned over his cereal.
“On Saturday?”
“Apparently rich people don’t believe in weekends.”
That made Rose giggle.
Dad entered as I was packing their lunches for a day at our neighbor Mrs.
Russo’s house.
He looked twenty years older than he had the week before.
“Abby.”
“Not in front of them.”
He nodded.
After the children left, the silence returned.
Dad sat at the kitchen table.
“I never thought it would get this bad.”
I continued washing dishes.
“That sentence doesn’t help me.”
“I know.”
“No.
I don’t think you do.”
He stared at his hands.
“The first loan was thirty thousand.”
I stopped.
“For what?”
“After your mother died, business dropped.
I missed jobs.
Forgot invoices.
Customers left.”
“You told me everything was fine.”
“I wanted it to be.”
“So you borrowed thirty thousand.”
“Yes.”
“And somehow that became four hundred and eighty?”
His eyes filled with shame.
“I started betting.”
I closed the faucet.
“Why?”
“Because one night I won twelve thousand dollars.”
Of course.
That was how traps worked.
They didn’t begin by hurting you.
They began by rewarding you.
Dad rubbed his forehead.
“I thought I could fix everything before you noticed anything was broken.”
I looked around the kitchen where Mom’s yellow curtains still hung beside the window.
“We noticed.”
“I know.”
I picked up my purse.
“Who loaned you the money?”
He hesitated.
“Different people.”
“Was Simon one of them?”
“No.”
I stopped at the doorway.
“What?”
“Simon bought the debt.”
“When?”
“Last month.”
That changed everything.
“Why?”
Dad shook his head.
“I don’t know.”
At eleven that morning, Daniel Mercer met me outside a brick warehouse overlooking the Delaware River.
Wexler Shipping did not look like the headquarters of a criminal empire.
It looked like a shipping company.
Forklifts moved pallets between loading bays.
Workers in reflective vests shouted over reversing trucks.
A tugboat pushed slowly along the gray water.
Inside, the offices were even less dramatic.
Reception desk.
Coffee machine.
Framed photographs of cargo ships.
A receptionist named Marla offered me tea.
I almost resented how ordinary everything was.
Then Simon Wexler walked into the conference room.
He was thirty-eight, according to everything I had found online at three that morning.
In person, he looked younger until you met his eyes.
Dark hair.
Gray suit.
No tie.
Nothing theatrical.
Nothing about him matched the monster my imagination had built.
“Abigail.”
“Abby.”
He nodded.
“Abby.”
Daniel closed the door behind us but remained in the room.
I appreciated that.
Simon gestured toward the table.
“You may sit, leave, yell, ask questions, or call an attorney.
None of those choices change the protections already established for your siblings.”
I remained standing.
“Does leaving change my father’s debt?”
“Yes.”
At least he didn’t pretend otherwise.
“Why marriage?”
Simon looked toward Daniel.
“Because I made an extremely poor decision.”
Daniel sighed quietly.
Interesting.
“What decision?”
Simon sat.
“Six months ago, my grandmother died.”
I waited.
“She left controlling interest in Wexler Maritime Holdings to me under one condition.”
I stared at him.
“You have to marry?”
“Before the annual board meeting next month.”
I almost laughed.
“You’re joking.”
“I wish I were.”
“What century is your family living in?”
“My grandmother was born in 1938.
Emotionally, she remained there whenever inheritance was discussed.”
Daniel added, “We challenged the provision.”
“And?”
“Legal.”
I looked back at Simon.
“So you need a wife, my father needs half a million dollars, and somebody decided I was convenient.”
“Yes.”
The honesty hit harder than an excuse would have.
“That’s horrible.”
“Yes.”
“You agree?”
“Completely.”
“Then why do it?”
“Because if I lose control of the company, nearly nine hundred employees become vulnerable to a restructuring plan supported by two board members who want to sell our waterfront property and outsource operations.”
I folded my arms.
“So this is about workers?”
“In part.”
“What’s the other part?”
“My family has spent seventy years building the company.
I’m not eager to become the man who loses it because my grandmother thought bachelorhood was evidence of moral failure.”
I sat despite myself.
“And my father?”
Simon’s expression changed.
“I was approached about purchasing his debt.”
“Why?”
“Because the lender knew I sometimes buy distressed business obligations.”
“To help people?”
“Sometimes.
Other times because they contain useful commercial assets.”
There was no false sainthood in his answer.
“What useful asset does my father have?”
“None.”
“Then why buy it?”
Simon was silent too long.
There.
The first hidden door.
“Why?”
I repeated.
“I knew your mother.”
Everything inside me stopped.
“You what?”
Daniel looked at Simon sharply.
Simon ignored him.
“Not well.
But I knew her.”
My voice became quieter.
“How?”
“Elaine Preston worked for my grandmother.”
I shook my head immediately.
“No, she didn’t.
Mom worked in hospital administration.”
“Before that.”
“She never mentioned Wexler Shipping.”
“It wasn’t Wexler Shipping then.”
He opened a folder.
Inside was an old employee photograph.
My mother stood in the second row.
She looked about twenty-seven.
Younger than I was now.
Beside her stood Simon’s grandmother.
I touched the edge of the photograph.
“What did she do?”
“Accounting.”
“For how long?”
“Almost seven years.”
“You were what, a kid?”
“Fourteen when she left.”
“So you barely knew her.”
“I knew who she was.”
I studied him.
“That’s not the same thing.”
“No.”
“Then why buy Dad’s debt?”
Simon leaned back.
“Your mother once did something for my family.
When I learned Walter Preston was in trouble, I believed purchasing the debt would give me time to find a solution.”
“Marriage was your solution?”
“No.”
His answer came immediately.
“Marriage became the solution after Daniel discovered your father had told one of his lenders that his adult daughter might be willing to enter a financial marriage.”
I turned cold.
Dad had not merely accepted the idea.
He had suggested me.
Simon continued carefully.
“I told Daniel to reject it.”
May you like
“But you changed your mind.”
“Yes.”
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