Page 112 of The Quiet After The Fall

I nod, but wish I could attach myself to her leg like a toddler. Imagining that scene brings a small smile to my lips. “Remember to double-check everything. And give him a hug from me.”

“Of course.” She squeezes my arm before peeling off toward the smaller tent behind us, where a woman with a clipboard is waving her over.

I blow out all the air in my lungs and take a deep breath of fresh air. Or mostly fresh—there’s a lingering cloud of expensive perfume permeating the space. Then I find an empty seat in the back, far away from Richard.

I don’t recognize anyone else taking their seats. No Hailey or her husband. No Aldrich aunts and uncles and cousins. If I had to guess, there’s mostly business associates and Ashford elite here. They should enjoy the performance.

That’s when I spot Vince Moretti turning around to look at something behind him. He’s in the front row, surrounded by men who are larger than him and the woman I saw at the engagement that night—maybe Ella’s mother?

My spine goes rigid as his gaze seems to pass over me. I look down quickly, hoping he doesn’t see me. It might complicate things, and that’s the last thing we need in this tightly choreographed plan.

I’m still examining my shoes when a hand closes around my elbow. I look up into Victoria’s wide eyes.

“Walk with me. Powder room emergency.”

The tent is almost full, it has to be getting close to starting. But Victoria’s already dragging me up, leading me outside, around the side of the house, past caterers and guests until the music is barely audible.

She doesn’t stop until we’re behind a hedge that’s tall enough to swallow us both.

“I don’t have long,” she says, pulling an envelope out from her clutch.

“Victoria, what⁠—”

“Take it.” She presses it into my hands before I can finish. “Before I change my mind.”

I look down at it, then back up at her. “What is this?”

“Open it later, when you’re alone.”

“But what is it?” I try again.

She brings a shaky hand to her temple, rubbing circles. “I overheard Richard and Knox that day. I—” She hesitates, voice wavering. “He gave me access to these a while ago.”

My mind whirls. Which day is she talking about? There’s been so many she could be referring to. And what does she have access to?

“He killed him. Richard. He killed my Owen.” Her eyes shine with tears that don’t fall. “And now he’s ruining Knox’s life. Forcing him to marry someone he doesn’t love.”

She takes my hand, and looks into my eyes. “Bury him, Sawyer. I can’t do it, but you can.”

I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. The words are stuck behind a clog of emotion. Then she drops my hand, smoothes her dress into place, and heads back to the tent where she’ll sit in the front row and watch her only son speak vows that are nothing but lies.

I stand there behind the hedge a second longer than I should, envelope shaking in my hands. The music gets louder, swelling into the first notes of the processional.

Victoria’s already out of sight when I tear the envelope open and gasp at what I find inside.

Bank statements. A stack of them folded in thirds. There’s no time to read them now, but I skim the heading and find that same bank name that was on the check Richard gave me. A. M. Holdings.

Victoria doesn’t know how much she just helped our case. Or maybe she does and that was her plan all along.

I smile despite what I’m about to witness. Richard Aldrich is so fucking done.

I tuck the envelope in my bag, hands still trembling, and I slip through the gap in the hedge just as the coordinator starts waving stragglers toward their seats. My spot’s still there at the back and I drop into it seconds before the quartet shifts into the bridal chorus. It’s slow and melodic, one of those songs that makes an entire room hold their breath.

Everyone stands. I do too, but my knees threaten to buckle.

Gia comes first—up the aisle in her modest navy dress, folder tucked under her arm. She takes her place at the altar with a composure I still can’t quite believe she’s capable of faking. I watch her settle into position and think, not for the first time, that she should’ve gone into acting instead of paralegal work.

I face the entrance, waiting to see him. Needing that small moment of connection.