Chapter 9 - The Wedding Trap
After Charles confessed, Wyatt wanted to cancel the wedding.
Not our marriage.
The wedding.
“There is a difference,” he told me.
We were sitting in the secure rental’s kitchen at two in the morning because neither of us could sleep.
“Our wedding date is what triggered them.”
“So we let them win?”
“No.”
He shook his head.
“We get married privately.”
“That is letting them dictate how.”
“That is keeping you alive.”
I looked at the scar beginning to form near my eye.
“I almost died on my parents’ lawn.”
“Exactly.”
“And I survived.”
“Sadie.”
“I’m not saying I want three hundred people.”
“You shouldn’t want any.”
“I want a life that belongs to us.”
Wyatt looked exhausted.
For days he had slept in short bursts.
Every time a door opened unexpectedly, he looked toward it.
Every unknown car outside made his shoulders tighten.
My family had not only attacked me.
They had dragged Wyatt into a permanent state of vigilance.
I reached across the table.
“I won’t do something reckless.”
“Good.”
“But I also won’t hide forever.”
He held my hand.
“We don’t have to.”
I smiled.
“What?”
“What if the wedding becomes the trap?”
His eyes narrowed.
“No.”
“You don’t even know what I mean.”
“I know you.”
“That’s rude.”
“That’s accurate.”
The idea was not entirely mine.
Detective Beckett had mentioned investigators were struggling to locate Victor Blaine.
Charles believed Victor would never return to his known properties.
Hannah hadn’t heard from him.
Phones went silent.
Accounts untouched.
If Victor had one remaining objective, it would be preventing my marriage long enough for someone to manipulate the trust.
But my thirtieth birthday still existed.
He could not delay forever.
So why not force him to move?
When we explained the idea to Beckett the next day, his response was immediate.
“No.”
I looked at Wyatt.
“See? Now you have a friend.”
Beckett did not smile.
“You are not bait.”
“I already am.”
“We can protect you without deliberately creating an event.”
“Can you find Victor?”
Silence.
“Not yet.”
“Then he chooses the time and place.”
Beckett looked annoyed because he knew I had a point.
Samuel added another factor.
The trust could legally be activated through a civil ceremony with only an authorized officiant and witnesses.
No public event required.
But if we publicly announced a wedding date while secretly arranging legal protection—
We might flush Victor out.
Wyatt hated every second of the plan.
He eventually agreed because the alternative was waiting.
We announced that Wyatt Hayes and Sadie Mercer would marry Saturday at Saint Catherine’s Church.
Grandma Ruth’s church.
Social media exploded.
The story of my attack had already become public.
Most reports avoided identifying me until charges were filed.
Now photographs appeared everywhere.
BRICK ATTACK SURVIVOR TO MARRY FIANCÉ DESPITE FAMILY PLOT.
I hated the headline.
But it accomplished what investigators wanted.
Victor would see it.
Mom saw it too.
Her attorney requested an emergency hearing about the trust.
That was the clearest sign we were right.
She argued Grandpa lacked competency and that any trust activation should be frozen.
Samuel nearly smiled when he read the filing.
“She is still trying.”
The judge denied the emergency request.
Then something unexpected happened.
Dad asked to speak with prosecutors.
Not through his attorney.
Privately.
The request was denied until counsel arrived.
When his lawyer finally joined him, Dad made an offer.
He would identify Victor Blaine.
In exchange, prosecutors would reduce charges.
The prosecutor asked one question.
“Why now?”
Dad answered:
“Because Elaine is going to get me killed.”
My parents’ marriage finally broke.
Dad claimed Mom had hired Victor originally.
Mom controlled him.
Mom ordered Charles silenced.
Dad said he had assaulted me in anger but insisted he never intended to kill me.
That distinction did not help him much.
But then he provided information.
Victor had a storage facility outside the city.
Unit 88.
Paid in cash under another name.
Federal agents raided it.
They found weapons.
Fake IDs.
Hospital uniforms.
Police-style radios.
Surveillance equipment.
Photographs of me.
Photographs of Wyatt.
And a detailed layout of Saint Catherine’s Church.
The wedding trap had worked before the wedding even happened.
But Victor wasn’t there.
Instead, agents found a printed schedule.
SATURDAY
11:30 — HAYES ARRIVAL
11:45 — MERCER ARRIVAL
12:00 — CEREMONY
12:08 — INTERRUPTION
Beside interruption:
CONFUSION / EVAC / VEHICLE.
I stared at the page.
“He planned to take me?”
Beckett nodded.
“Possibly.”
“Why not kill me?”
“No way to know.”
Wyatt read another document.
“What is Alternative B?”
No one wanted to answer.
It described a vehicle collision after departure.
Code Blue.
An accident.
The wedding became too dangerous to use as bait.
Federal agents cancelled the operation.
Or so we publicly announced.
Privately, we made a different plan.
At 8:15 Saturday morning, Wyatt and I entered a small judge’s chambers through an underground courthouse garage.
Grandpa came with us.
Samuel.
Nora.
Detective Ortiz served as an additional witness.
I wore a simple blue dress.
Not the original one.
That remained sealed as evidence, stained with blood.
Wyatt wore a dark suit.
No flowers.
No music.
No aisle.
No family except Grandpa.
And somehow it felt more meaningful than anything I had imagined.
The judge looked at both of us.
“Do you understand that by entering this marriage, you are making a legal commitment voluntarily and without coercion?”
I looked at Wyatt.
“Yes.”
He smiled.
“Yes.”
The vows were short.
Our hands shook.
Not from fear.
From everything it had taken to reach that room.
When the judge pronounced us married, Grandpa cried.
Nora cried.
I cried.
Detective Ortiz pretended something was in her eye.
At 8:31 a.m., I became Sadie Hayes.
At 8:32, Samuel sent the executed marriage certificate to the trust company.
At 8:47, the trust activated.
My mother lost control.
Any forged beneficiary records became irrelevant.
My grandfather retained his lifetime interests.
I became the controlling beneficiary.
Melanie’s portion was frozen pending the forfeiture investigation.
At 9:05, a bank officer called Samuel.
Someone had just attempted to initiate an emergency transfer of twelve million dollars from a trust-linked account.
The credentials belonged to my mother.
The request failed.
But investigators traced the login.
It came from a motel.
Federal agents arrived fourteen minutes later.
The room was empty.
Still warm.
A laptop sat open.
On the screen was a security-camera feed.
Live footage.
Of Saint Catherine’s Church.
Victor had been watching.
They found another device beside the laptop.
A burner phone.
The most recent incoming message had arrived from a number registered to an attorney service used by inmates.
The message contained only three words.
SHE IS MARRIED.
Victor responded one minute later.
Then we improvise.
At that exact moment, my phone rang.
Unknown number.
Beckett signaled everyone to remain silent.
I answered.
“Hello?”
For several seconds, I heard only breathing.
Then an older male voice.
“You should have listened to your mother.”
Victor.
My hand tightened around Wyatt’s.
“What does she think I should have done?”
“Walked away.”
“From Wyatt?”
“From everything.”
I forced myself to stay calm.
“You hurt my grandmother.”
Silence.
“Didn’t you?”
Victor chuckled.
“Ruth talked too much.”
Grandpa’s face went white.
Federal technicians began tracing the call.
I continued.
“And Grandpa?”
“Your grandfather was supposed to sign.”
“He didn’t.”
“No.”
Victor sounded irritated.
“He was stubborn.”
“That runs in the family.”
“You think this is funny?”
“No.”
I looked at Wyatt.
“I think you lost.”
Victor stopped breathing.
Then:
“You have no idea what your mother promised me.”
“What?”
“Enough to finish this.”
The call disconnected.
Technicians got a partial location.
Industrial district.
Agents moved immediately.
But before anyone found Victor, the courthouse fire alarm activated.
Everyone froze.
Detective Ortiz reached for her weapon.
“This isn’t a drill.”
Smoke began pouring from the hallway.
Someone shouted from downstairs.
The elevators stopped.
The judge’s chambers had one stairwell exit.
Then Beckett’s radio crackled.
“Possible armed subject in parking level.”
Wyatt grabbed my hand.
Grandpa stood.
Ortiz moved us toward an interior conference room.
The lights flickered.
Then went dark.
From somewhere beyond the smoke, a man’s voice called:
“Sadie.”
I knew immediately.
Victor had never been at the church.
May you like
He had known.
Somehow, he had known where the real wedding was.
