Chapter 3 - The Broken Trust
Grace did not slide the bolt back immediately. She stood with her forehead pressed against the cold wood of the door, taking a slow, measured breath.
“Robert,” Grace called out through the panel. “Is Frank with you right now?”
“Yes, Grace,” Robert answered, his tone laced with confusion. “He’s right here holding the tray. What’s going on? Rose said you locked the door.”
“Tell Frank to go down to the kitchen and check on the catering crew,” Grace said, keeping her voice completely calm, the polished tone of a seasoned Southern hostess masking the sheer dread in her veins. “Katherine needs a few moments to dress. I don't want anyone in the hallway.”
There was a brief pause on the other side of the door. A low, muffled murmur of voices followed.
Then Frank’s voice came through—smooth, pleasant, and deeply familiar.
“Of course, Grace,” Frank said softly. “Whatever the bride needs. I’ll just leave the coffee tray on the side table out here. Tell Caleb we’re all family here... whatever went wrong, we fix it inside the house.”
Grace listened to the sound of heavy footsteps receding down the carpeted hallway. Only when she was entirely certain Frank had walked away did she unlock the door and open it a crack.
Robert stood in the corridor, holding a silver coffee urn. His eyes were lined with fatigue, his tuxedo jacket tossed over a nearby chair.
“Robert, come in,” Grace whispered, pulling him inside and locking the door again.
Robert looked at Katherine, who was sitting rigid in the armchair, her hands clasped tightly together. “Katherine, child, what in God’s name is happening? Caleb is downstairs in the library acting like a broken man, talking about fraud and police files.”
“Robert,” Grace said, grabbing her husband’s arm with a grip so tight her nails bit into his linen sleeve. “Look at me.”
Robert turned to his wife, startled by the fierce, cold fury in her eyes.
“Did Frank have any involvement in the supply contracts for the James River Bridge project three years ago?” Grace asked directly.
Robert frowned, taken aback. “Old Dominion Materials? Frank was an investor, yes. He put up fifty thousand dollars to help them secure the state delivery contract. Why?”
“Because Beatrice Caldwell didn't run away,” Grace said, her voice dropping into a deadly whisper. “Beatrice found out Frank’s company was delivering degraded concrete for the bridge piers. And she disappeared the night Pier 4 was poured.”
Robert’s face went completely blank. For five seconds, the master of Oakhaven Springs—a man who had managed banks, timber companies, and local politics for thirty years—seemed incapable of processing the words.
“That’s impossible,” Robert breathed, shaking his head. “Frank is my brother. He’s a foolish businessman, yes. He’s made bad investments. But murder? Concrete? Grace, this is insane. Katherine is trying to deflect blame because Caleb caught her taking payoffs!”
“I didn't take a payoff!” Katherine shouted, standing up from the chair, her heavy bridal gown rustling loudly. “Look at the bank records, Mr. Monroe! The fifty thousand dollars wasn't a bribe paid to me—it was Beatrice’s personal savings that I placed into escrow to help her hide from your brother! Frank used my firm’s tax ID to make it look like an offshore bribe!”
“Robert,” Grace said softly, placing a hand on her husband’s chest. “Where was Frank the night Beatrice vanished? Do you remember? It was the weekend of the alumni gala in Charlottesville.”
Robert opened his mouth to answer, then stopped.
Grace watched the memories shift behind her husband’s eyes. She saw the exact moment the doubt took root.
“He... he left the gala early,” Robert whispered, his voice cracking. “He said he had a meeting with the site supervisors in Richmond because of an unexpected midnight concrete pour. He came back at six in the morning with his boots covered in wet grey slurry.”
The room went deathly quiet.
Robert stepped back, staggering slightly until his hip hit the edge of the dresser. “My brother...”
“We can’t stay in this house tonight,” Grace declared firmly. “Caleb thinks he built a trap for Katherine, but Frank has built a trap for all of us. If Frank realizes Katherine has put the pieces together, none of us are safe.”
“Where is Caleb now?” Katherine asked, her voice trembling.
“He’s in the library,” Robert said, wiping a sudden sheen of sweat from his forehead. “He was looking through his old bridge inspection files on his laptop.”
“We need to get him out,” Grace said. “And we need to call the State Police.”
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Before Robert could reach for the brass door handle, the lights in the guest suite flickered twice and died.
The entire east wing of Oakhaven Springs fell into total, pitch-black darkness.
