“You submitted a financing package in her name?”
“It was preliminary,” Grant said.
“A proposal.
Nothing binding.”
“It included a signature page,” Paul replied.
The chapel doors opened behind the final row.
Two uniformed officers entered with a plainclothes detective.
They did not rush forward.
They simply waited near the doors, making it clear that nobody would leave unnoticed.
Grant’s confidence flickered.
Paul slid a photocopy across the altar toward me.
My name appeared at the bottom in a careful imitation of my signature.
It was good.
It was not mine.
I remembered signing a delivery receipt in Grant’s office six months earlier.
He had placed several blank sheets beneath it and joked that his desk was too cluttered to find a proper pad.
At the time, I had laughed.
Now I wondered whether he had been collecting pressure patterns or simply testing how easily I signed without looking.
“Where did this come from?” I asked.
Paul’s gaze remained on Grant.
“The electronic file was created on a computer registered to Grant’s consulting firm.
It was revised four times.
The final version was emailed to the lender by his assistant.”
Grant spread his hands.
“Then speak to my assistant.
Anyone in the office could have used the machine.”
“The file contains your digital certificate,” Robert said.
“Certificates can be copied.”
“And the email instructing your assistant to send it?”
Grant said nothing.
Paul passed me a printed message.
The wording was brief: Hold submission until wedding date is confirmed.
Once marriage is complete, release immediately.
C.W.
will sign formal authority after honeymoon.
C.W.
Claire Whitmore.
My future had been reduced to initials in a fraud plan.
Natalie backed away from the altar.
“I didn’t know about a forged signature.”
Grant turned on her.
“You knew enough.”
“You said everything would be legal after the wedding.”
“Stop talking.”
“You told me Claire would lose control whether she stayed married to you or not.”
Grant grabbed her wrist.
The detective moved forward.
“Let go of her.”
Grant released Natalie at once.
His eyes swept across the room, searching for the one person who might still rescue him.
They stopped on me.
His face softened with astonishing speed.
“Claire,” he said, “please.
We’ve both been under pressure.
Your father’s death changed you.
