Chapter 36
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Mother and I met at her house shortly after I called her. For once, my cold mother was sympathetic. She patted me on the back and spoke softly in my ear. Then the two of us came up with a plan. I needed proof that Tucker was cheating on me, before I jumped to conclusions. Once I knew for sure he was cheating, then we would move forward with the second part of our plan.
I still wanted to marry Tucker, so it had to be done carefully.
Back in my kitchen, I feel a little silly as I open my laptop and type “how to catch your cheating fiancé” into the search bar. Desperate times call for desperate measures, I suppose . The internet, of course, is full of useful information—how to set traps, how to install tracking applications on phones. I’m deep into an article about hidden cameras when my phone buzzes.
It’s a text from Tucker:
Working late tonight, babe. Don’t wait up.
I stare at the message for a beat longer. Half of me wants to laugh, the other half wants to throw my phone across the room and watch it shatter against the wall. It’s going to be almost too easy catching the two of them together. I still can’t believe it— only two days until the wedding, and he’s “working late.” I know exactly what it means.
He’s with her. Reese.
Then it hits me—all this research is unnecessary. The solution is right at my fingertips. Tucker and I share logins for each other’s cell phone accounts. With trembling hands, I open the “Find My Phone” app, and there he is, a blinking dot on the screen.
I take a deep breath, steadying myself, and swipe open my phone to look at where he is now—near the Charleston Place Hotel of all places. Which means they’re probably getting a room together, so they can shack up on the hotel’s famous silky white sheets. A menacing visual of the two of them naked in bed, twisted in a moment of ecstasy, rattles my brain. I nearly lose my lunch.
Focus, Charlotte.
I shake my head and breathe, dispelling the thought. What I need to do is focus on tonight. I should have just enough time to change before heading out the door. I slip on a pair of black leggings, a baggy black hoodie, and a black cap. To make sure he doesn’t recognize my blonde hair, I tuck a chin-length brown wig under my cap.
I glance at myself in the hallway mirror just before stepping out to the garage. I bite my lip, doubt creeping in. I’ve wiped all the makeup off my face, and the hollows under my eyes are dark and deep, and my skin looks pale. There’s no question this disguise will work—I don’t think my own mother would recognize me from a distance. But it all feels a little bit ridiculous. Has it really come to this? Am I really disguising myself to go check if my fiancé is cheating on me just days before our wedding?
Before I can break down into tears, I grab my keys off the table and bolt for the door. I set my phone on the dashboard of my car, keeping the blinking location just within view. It looks like he’s past the hotel and is moving further west. My mind races with possibilities. Are they leaving the hotel together? Heading to dinner? Did they already have sex in the room and now they’re hungry? The thought nearly makes me sick. I glance at the glove box, thinking again of my razors. But I won’t have time for that. I need to stay focused.
I try to clear my head and focus on the traffic lights, the lines on the road, the pedestrian signs—anything to keep me from thinking about Reese and Tucker together. I’m so focused on not thinking about what’s happening that I almost miss it when I realize I’m heading directly toward Tucker’s warehouse in Charleston.
I chew on my lip, confusion setting in. This isn’t what I expected. What if he actually is working late tonight? Normally his warehouse crews are off duty by now, so it’s strange that he’d be driving to the warehouse so late at night.
I suddenly feel foolish. I tug my cap down further onto my head as I weave in and out of traffic. I consider turning back for a moment, but what if she’s here? What if the two of them are meeting here? The thought of them in his office isn’t that far-fetched. They could easily rendezvous here; he has a large office with a bathroom and cot in the back.
I decide to forge ahead, since I’ve already come this far.
I manage to spot Tucker’s SUV up ahead, about three cars in front of me. I hang back, making sure he doesn’t see my car. A few minutes later, I see him turn off the street toward the warehouse gates. I drive past, giving him plenty of time to park before I find a spot down the street. I grab a flashlight out of my bag, along with my phone and a pair of binoculars.
My heart beats rapidly as I creep through the darkness. The shipyard is large, with rows upon rows of shipping containers stacked high, creating a mazelike layout. Cranes loom overhead, and the salty smell of the harbor fills the air. Tucker’s warehouse has security and cameras, but I’ve been here a few times and he’s shown me the lay of the land. I know there’s a door in the back that I can slip into without being seen, by the water.
My hands shake as I lift the metal latch and slip through the door. I carefully make my way through the dimly lit paths between containers, staying alert for any signs of movement or voices. I glance warily at the security cameras peppered around the property. Suddenly the brown wig and cap don’t feel so foolish.
My heart races as I creep closer. A small pebble skitters beneath my foot, and I freeze, holding my breath. But the constant whooshing of the wind from the ocean and the gentle lapping of water against the docks mask the sound. Relief washes over me, and I press on, grateful for the sound cover.
I spot Tucker in the corner standing next to an open shipping container. He’s speaking with a man dressed in a reflective vest, carrying a clipboard. I weave in and out of the containers until I’m about ten feet away, just within earshot.
“This shipment’s better than the last,” a voice says. Not Tucker’s.
“They’re getting good,” Tucker replies. “Soon, no one will be able to tell the difference—if they even still can.”
Around the corner, Tucker is standing with his back to me, examining what appears to be a Louis Vuitton Neverfull bag. I glance around at the stacks and stacks of boxes. Louis Vuitton bags are made in France; however, all of these boxes are stamped with “Made in China.”
“How many we got?” the other man asks.
“Two hundred Gucci, one hundred and fifty Louis Vuitton,” Tucker says. “Street value close to one million.”
My breath catches in my throat. I can hardly believe what I’m seeing. These are counterfeit bags. Tucker is selling counterfeit bags. I feel my breath quicken. This is not what I expected, not what I came here for. I thought I’d find him with Reese, get the proof I need to confront him.
Now? I’m not sure what to do. I feel my mouth hanging open, staring at what feels like a train wreck. The fight or flight part of my brain suddenly clicks on and a dozen questions start running through my mind. Should I run? Should I go up and ask Tucker what all this is about? Is his fortune built on lies? On crime? Counterfeit goods are illegal—extremely illegal. If Tucker got caught doing this…
The last thought tumbles around in my brain for a few seconds before I realize the opportunity in front of me. I hit the record button on my phone and take a video, then photos. After capturing about a dozen or so shots, I tuck my phone back into my pocket.
Tucker is moving now, turning his body toward me. That’s my cue. I quickly step back into the shadows and look for my exit. Once I hear the two of them walk away, I run back to my car, never stopping to look over my shoulder. I can see a few cameras ahead of me, but if they record me, they’ll never see who it is. It’s too dark, and the black clothes should blend into the shadows. I’m just ten yards away from the back gate.
A dog’s bark pierces the night air, distant but unmistakable. My heart leaps into my throat, and I break into a cold sweat. Images of Tucker’s snarling guard dogs flash through my mind, their teeth bared and eyes gleaming in the darkness. I pick up my pace, my breath coming in short, panicked gasps.
When I’m finally settled in the leather seat of my car, I let out a long sigh. I made it. I don’t take time to dwell on what just happened. I turn on the ignition and pull onto the road. As I make my way back home, reality sinks in.
My soon-to-be husband is a criminal .
Everything we have is built on lies. The sprawling mansion with its manicured gardens. My closet overflowing with Chanel and Gucci. Those lavish vacations to St. Tropez and Bali. All of it, tainted. I rub my forehead, trying to decide what to do next.
Should I call off the wedding? Should I call the police? I can only imagine the look on Mother’s face when she finds out my fiancé was arrested for fraud. She’d never recover from the shame, and neither would I.
I debate whether or not to call her, but this wasn’t a part of our plan. I bite my lip. No, telling Mother is out of the question. I need someone to talk to. To help me figure this out. I quickly dial Cara. Her husband is a criminal attorney. He’s just out of law school, but I’m sure he knows something I could do.
“Hello?” she says. She sounds tired, like she was just about to fall asleep.
“Cara, it’s Charlotte.”
“Oh, hi. What’s up, Char? Is everything okay?”
“Yes…I mean no. It’s about Tucker. I just found out something about him and I—” Just as I am about to tell her the whole story, I see Tucker’s car at the intersection in front of me.
Crap! I can’t let him see me.
“Charlotte?”
“Listen, sorry I bothered you,” I say, recovering. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?”
“Sure—”
I hang up before she has a chance to say goodbye. I slam on the breaks and peel down a side street before Tucker sees me. Once his taillights are out of sight, I steer my car into a U-turn.
I stare off into the darkness and shake my head. It’s a sign. Calling Cara was not the right move. Despite the growing chasm between Tucker and me and the new revelation that he is, in fact, a criminal, I still love him.
I pull over to the side of the road, my thoughts racing. Should I be telling Cara? My mother? Anyone? If Cara tells her husband, Tucker might actually go to jail. The thought makes my stomach lurch. No, I can’t let that happen. Finding out how flawed he really is seems to set the scales even between us. I’ve suspected he wasn’t perfect for a while now—why else would I have come out tonight to catch him cheating? But this…this is different. It’s bigger. And yet, it doesn’t change how I feel.
I’ve never cared about his business or how he makes his money before. In fact, maybe it’s better this way. If he’s willing to do this for money, maybe I don’t need to feel so guilty about needing to marry him for mine. He’s just as broken as me, after all. And that makes us perfect for each other. In fact, I’ve never wanted to marry him more.
There’s just one thing that stands between the two of us. That annoying little redhead— Reese. But she won’t be an issue now. Because pretty soon, Tucker won’t want to have anything to do with her. Not after he finds out what I have on him.