I spoke through the wood.
“Leave.”
“Give me the card.”
“No.”
“That money belongs to my parents.”
“Then they can prove it in court.”
“You stupid, selfish—”
Jessica began recording.
Brandon lowered his voice.
“You have no idea what you’re doing.”
“Then explain it.”
Silence.
“What is BPF Holdings?” I asked.
His fist struck the door.
The frame shook.
“Open this door!”
“Why did someone try to access my account four times after I left?”
The hallway went quiet.
Even the barking dog stopped.
Then Brandon said, “Because you took something that wasn’t yours.”
“No. That isn’t an answer.”
His voice changed again.
The anger flattened into something almost pleading.
“Melanie, there are people involved who will not care about your feelings.”
A chill moved through me.
“What people?”
He seemed to realize what he had said.
“Just give me the card.”
Jessica held the phone closer to the door.
“You threatened her,” she called. “We recorded it.”
“I didn’t threaten anyone.”
“Leave now,” she said, “or the recording goes to the police.”
His footsteps remained outside for several seconds.
Then they retreated down the stairs.
I listened until the building door slammed.
Jessica lowered the phone.
“What did he mean by people involved?”
“I don’t know.”
But I was beginning to understand that the marriage might not have been the center of their plan.
It might have been the mechanism.
The next morning, my parents arrived shortly after sunrise.
My mother entered Jessica’s apartment carrying a bag of food and wrapped me in her arms without saying a word.
My father came in behind her.
He looked older than he had at the wedding.
Only two days earlier, he had danced with me beneath a chandelier while guests applauded. Now his face was gray with sleeplessness.
He touched the faint redness on my cheek with the back of two fingers.
“Did this come from the rag?”
“Yes.”
His hand fell.
“I should have stopped the wedding.”
The sentence stunned me.
“What are you talking about?”
He looked toward my mother.
She set the food bag down slowly.
“There were things we did not tell you,” she said.
My stomach tightened.
“What things?”
My father sat across from me.
“Three weeks before the wedding, I received an anonymous envelope at my office.”
He removed a folded sheet of paper from his jacket.
Inside was a photocopy of a debt collection notice addressed to Patrick.
The amount was staggering.
Over nine hundred thousand dollars.
The creditor was a private lending firm called León Capital.
Payments were six months overdue.
Collateral included the warehouse, Patrick’s house, and several company vehicles.
“I confronted Brandon,” my father said. “He told me the notice was fake. He said a competitor was trying to embarrass his family before the wedding.”
“You believed him?”
“No.”
“Then why didn’t you tell me?”
“I wanted proof.”
My mother sat beside me.
“We hired someone to investigate quietly.”
I stared at them.
“You investigated my fiancé without telling me?”
“Would you have listened?” my father asked softly.
The truth hurt because it was not entirely unfair.
I remembered defending Brandon whenever my father questioned his business ambitions.
He is building something.
He just needs time.
You never trusted him because his family isn’t wealthy.
I had accused my father of judging them.