Chapter 3 - “Emily.”
Alexander’s voice was quiet.
I turned.
“Don’t protect him because he’s your nephew.”
“I won’t.”
“Don’t protect me either.”
Something softened in his expression.
“I won’t do that.”
“I need the truth.”
“So do I.”
My phone rang.
Mason.
I stared at his name.
Dad looked away.
Alexander made no movement toward me.
No instruction.
No warning.
Just silence.
I answered.
“What?”
Mason exhaled.
“I’ve been trying to reach you.”
“I noticed.”
“We need to talk.”
“About yesterday?”
“About everything.”
I looked at the letter in my hand.
“Did you know Peter Lang?”
Silence.
Tiny.
Barely two seconds.
But enough.
“Mason?”
“Where did you hear that name?”
My fingers tightened around the phone.
“He was my father’s CFO.”
“I know who he was.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
Another pause.
Then Mason said, “Emily, please don’t do this over the phone.”
My heart began pounding.
“Did you know him?”
“Yes.”
Alexander’s eyes met mine.
“How?”
Mason sighed.
“Peter came to me two years ago.”
The room seemed to narrow.
“Why?”
“He wanted an introduction.”
“To whom?”
“My father initially.”
Mason’s father, Charles Whitmore, ran the family’s investment division.
“What did Peter want?”
“He said Carter Manufacturing needed a strategic buyer.”
My mouth went dry.
“When was this?”
“A few weeks before you and I started dating.”
I looked at Alexander.
He had gone completely still.
“Did you tell Peter you were interested?”
“No.”
“Did you tell anyone?”
“I mentioned it to my father.”
“What exactly did you tell him?”
“That Carter might become available.”
My father heard.
I saw it in his face.
He looked wounded.
“Mason, did you know Mercer was trying to gain control of our contracts?”
“No.”
“Did you know Peter went to work for them?”
A pause.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Months ago.”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“I didn’t think it mattered.”
I closed my eyes.
“Yesterday you accused me of trying to marry you for money while knowing someone from my father’s company had approached your family about buying ours.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“It matters.”
“I was trying to protect myself.”
“From me?”
“From being used.”
The strange thing was, he sounded sincere.
That hurt differently.
Some part of Mason had genuinely believed I might be capable of what he accused me of.
“Who told you about our debt?”
Silence.
“Mason.”
“I received documents.”
“From whom?”
“Anonymous email.”
“When?”
“Six weeks ago.”
“Why didn’t you ask me?”
“I did.”
“No. You asked whether everything was okay at the company. I said we were struggling.”
“You said you had it under control.”
“I thought we did.”
“That was a lie.”
“Maybe.”
My voice softened despite myself.
“But you chose to investigate me instead of talking to me.”
“I needed certainty.”
“And when you found something frightening, you chose an audience.”
He had no answer.
I looked at the letter again.
“When did you decide to cancel the wedding?”
“Three days ago.”
Three days.
He had kissed me goodnight.
Confirmed the honeymoon reservations.
Practiced our first dance.
Three days knowing what he intended to do.
“I need the email,” I said.
“What?”
“The anonymous email and everything attached.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m trying to understand what happened to my family’s company.”
“Emily, I don’t think—”
“You’ve done enough thinking for both of us.”
He fell silent.
Then, quietly, “I’ll send it.”
“Thank you.”
I disconnected.
Nobody spoke.
A minute later, my phone chimed.
Twelve files arrived.
Alexander opened his laptop.
We reviewed them one at a time.
Bank summaries.
Lien information.
Payroll reports.
Internal Carter forecasts.
Documents Mason never should have possessed.
Then we reached the final attachment.
It was a memorandum outlining Carter Manufacturing’s potential value after insolvency.
Dad read over my shoulder.
His face drained.
“What?”
I scrolled downward.
The memo discussed equipment.
Land.
Customer relationships.
Patents.
Then it listed a proposed acquisition vehicle.
Lakeshore Industrial Partners LLC.
Alexander leaned closer.
“I know that company.”
I looked at him.
“Who owns it?”
He didn’t answer immediately.
“Alexander.”
His eyes moved slowly toward mine.
“It was formed by Whitmore Capital.”
Mason’s father’s company.
My stomach dropped.
“So the Whitmores were preparing to buy Carter?”
“Possibly.”
“My fiancé’s family?”
“Emily—”
“Did you know?”
“No.”
“Would Mason?”
“I don’t know.”
I stood so quickly the chair scraped behind me.
Alexander closed the laptop.
“Don’t assume the memo is genuine.”
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Because whoever sent this to Mason wanted him to believe two things at once: that your family was nearly insolvent and that his family had an opportunity to acquire Carter.”
Dad frowned.
“Why?”
Alexander looked at the files.
“To make Mason suspicious of Emily.”
“And?”
“To make the Whitmore investment side interested in Carter.”
I stared at him.
“Someone wanted the wedding canceled?”
“Maybe.”
“Who benefits?”
“That,” he said, “is the correct question.”
My phone chimed again.
This time it was not Mason.
It was an email from an address I didn’t recognize.
The subject line contained only two words.
Ask Peter.
There was one attachment.
An audio file.
Dad whispered, “Emily, don’t.”
But I pressed play.
For several seconds there was only room noise.
Then my mother’s voice filled the study.
I froze.
Three years had passed since I last heard her speaking anything new.
Her voice was thinner than I remembered, but unmistakably hers.
“Peter, I reviewed the Mercer projections.”
A man answered.
Peter Lang.
“You shouldn’t be working, Laura.”
“Don’t change the subject.”
“I’m not.”
“You told Richard Mercer would stabilize the company.”
“It will.”
“Then why does every downside scenario end with Carter losing control of its assets?”
Silence.
My mother continued.
“Who are you working for, Peter?”
Dad covered his mouth.
Peter answered quietly.
“You don’t understand what’s happening.”
“Then explain it.”
“I’m trying to keep Carter alive.”
“By positioning it for acquisition?”
Another silence.
Then Peter said something none of us expected.
“I’m trying to keep it away from Whitmore Capital.”
The recording ended.
I turned toward Alexander.
He looked as surprised as I felt.
Dad sank slowly into the chair.
And I realized the mystery was no longer whether somebody had wanted Carter Manufacturing to fail.
May you like
It was whether Peter Lang—the man we had begun to suspect—had actually been trying to save it from someone else.
And somewhere between my mother’s warning, Mason’s anonymous documents, Mercer’s contracts, and the company controlled by Mason’s father was a truth that had been waiting three years for someone to finally ask the right question.
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