Chapter Twenty-Two The Disappearing Act
Dex
Carly’s hand rested lightly on my arm. She had been there most of the past half hour, never pressing, and never entirely letting go. She kept her smile in place as if it were part of her outfit.
“You can't tell me this is where you planned to end up,” she said, watching the crowd. “A small-town holiday party with folding tables and string lights. Charming, perhaps, but hardly a career move.”
“I like it here,” I distractedly told her, looking for Lucy in the crowd. Somehow, she had disappeared.
“Dex, you are an architect. You should be building ski lodges and resorts, not tightening extension cords and chaperoning dances. Leave the labor for the laborers,” she said, her tone dry
“Some things are worth fixing by hand,” I mentioned, thinking of the library. I had hoped to show Lucy it tonight. I felt like tonight was the perfect time to display what I had built for her, to tell her I wanted to build a life together.
Carly tilted her head. “You have been avoiding me all week. The board at the lodge is waiting for your answer on joining us on the project.”
“Tell them no.”
Her eyebrows lifted. She had a disbelieving laugh. “You can’t be serious.”
“I can, and I am. If Braxton wants the project, he can have it. I am staying here,” I told her.
“Because of her?” Carly’s voice softened, not kind but probing.
“This isn't about anyone else, it is about me. I am done designing places that look impressive and feel empty,” I responded.
Carly’s mouth tightened. “Do you realise how much you are throwing away? That project would have kept you on the front page of every trade magazine for a year.”
“I am not interested in being on the front page." It was true. That wasn’t my goal. Braxton and I had built the business and didn’t lack for customers. We could choose our projects. We didn’t need the publicity.
“You are being sentimental. This family has no idea who you are or what you could build. I do. I know you,” Carly leaned in close, trying to focus my attention back to her.
“They know more than you think.”
Carly’s fingers tensed on my sleeve. “You will regret this.”
“No. I really won’t." I removed her hand gently, and for once she had nothing to say.
I left her near the tree and walked toward the entry, scanning the tables, looking for Lucy.
Then something hit me as odd. Wickham had been taking envelopes and greeting guests all night, but now his spot was empty.
I hadn’t heard him make any announcements, or hogging the limelight for some time now.
The box sat on the corner of the counter, the lid pushed halfway closed.
Lydia stood nearby with her phone in hand, smiling for a picture with one of the guests. She caught my look and frowned. “What?”
“Where is he?” I slowly asked.
“Who?” Lydia looked at me in confusion as the guest left to go talk to someone else.
“Wickham.”
“Oh, he just stepped out. The box was getting full, and he didn’t want to leave the money lying around. He went to make a deposit for the charities,” she informed me.
“Which bank?” I automatically asked. Not that it was any of my business. However, a feeling of unease persisted.
“The credit union on Main. He will be back in a few minutes.”
A young server approached with careful politeness. “Excuse me, Miss Bennet. Mr. Wickham said he would hand out our envelopes at the start of the shift, but he didn’t. Do you know when we will be paid?”
Lydia’s smile faltered. “He was supposed to handle that before the event started.”
“Yes, ma’am, but he told us to ask you if we didn’t receive them.”
“Right,” she said quickly. “Just give me a moment and I’ll check what’s going on.”
He left, and she turned to me, uncertainty flitting across her face. “This is fine. He’s probably at the bank right now.”
“Does he have anyone with him?” I wondered.
“No.”
“Do you have his business address?”
“No." She shook her head.
“Do you have a contract?” I questioned.
She hesitated. “He said it would only slow things down.”
A man wearing a rental company jacket came through the doorway holding a clipboard. “Sorry, folks. I’ve been waiting all night for our payment for the glassware. Are you Lydia Bennet?”
“I thought Gavin already paid you,” Lydia murmured.
“He hasn’t. Here’s our invoice." He ripped a piece of paper off the clipboard, handing it to Lydia.
“It’s just a little miscommunication,” Lydia said too fast. “I’m taking care of that right now. Please wait near the door.”
The man frowned but did as she asked. When he walked away, she exhaled. “This is fine. I can figure this out. I’ll give Gavin a call and sort it all out.”
She tapped her phone screen then held it up to her ear. Lydia looked up at me and frowned. “You look like you are preparing for disaster.”
“I am preparing for reality,” I gently replied.
We waited as his phone went to voicemail. She dialed him again with the same results.
“Lydia,” I said quietly, “where is the money from the online ticket sales?”
“Through his website. He said he would transfer it after the event." Lydia began to chew her bottom lip.
“To who?”
“To me. To the inn.”
“Did you confirm the account he used?” I asked.
She stared at me. “You really don’t trust anyone, do you?”
“He told you one thing, and people are telling you another. It’s not adding up,” I said.
Her chin lifted, proud and fragile at once. “He is coming back.”
“Good,” I said, even though I didn’t believe it for a moment. Normally I would unflinchingly tell the truth, but I felt the need to protect the Bennet family. “He can explain then.”
“Maybe he’s driving. Maybe he’s pulling up to the inn right now,” Lydia’s voice was small and there was a thread of desperation in it.
She headed out the door, walking along the porch, uncaring that she had left the door open.
I followed her. The parking lot stretched quiet and white under the lights.
Wickham’s car was gone. Only clean tire tracks curved through the snow.
Lydia went still beside me. “He went to the bank.”
“Then he will be back soon,” I said, because there wasn't anything else to say. “Come on.”
We stepped back inside. The music had picked up tempo. Guests were dancing again. The Bennet family was laughing near the dessert table, unaware. I hoped it stayed that way for a little while longer.
“Give me your vendor list. We will pay them ourselves,” I decided.
“With what?” a forlorn Lydia asked.
“My credit card.”
“Dex, you can’t!” It was a token protest, and we both knew it. She pressed her lips together. “You don’t have to clean up our mistakes.”
“Your family doesn’t deserve to have this night ruined,” I pointed out.
Lydia’s eyes filled with tears that she blinked back. “Fine. The list is in the office.”
William intercepted us as we crossed the hall.
I told him enough of the current predicament so that he would give us the keys to the office to access the full vendor list. His jaw tightened but he nodded.
He handed me the keys to the office without a word and went to stand near the kitchen door, keeping an eye on the vendors.
In the office, Lydia spread out her notes.
The list was longer than I expected with catering staff, glassware, shuttles, rentals, even the DJ deposit.
We started making calls. One by one, I verified that no one had been paid.
I processed transactions through my online banking while Lydia wrote confirmation numbers on a paper with the amounts to keep track.
We went through the serving staff, one by one, because Wickham hadn’t hired through an agency but each person individually.
It took nearly an hour. Between my calls, Lydia checked her phone and tried in vain to get ahold of her supposed boyfriend yet again.
Wickham’s number went to voicemail. His business line played an automated message that never reached a person.
I wrote down the car plate number I remembered from earlier.
Lydia rubbed her forehead. “How did I not see this coming?”
“Because he made you feel accepted, useful, and wonderful. That's what people like him do. He’s a charmer and a scoundrel,” I gently told her.
She swallowed hard. “Lucy will never forgive me.”
“She will. But she may make you work for it,” I mentioned with an almost smile.
That earned a weak laugh. “She always does.”
“She’s your sister. She will forgive you. I’m certain of it,” I replied.
“What are we going to tell Lucy?” Lydia wondered.
“Nothing yet. Let her have a good time tonight.”
“She will be furious if she finds out we waited.”
“She will be furious either way,” I dryly stated.
Lydia nodded, quiet for a moment. “You really care about her.”
“Yes,” I said simply.
I checked the time. Wickham had been gone for nearly two hours. He wasn't coming back. I stepped out into the hall and found Carly waiting near the doorway. Her expression had cooled, but she smiled as if nothing had happened.
“You disappeared. I was wondering if something was wrong,” she said with a practiced smile.
“Nothing’s wrong,” I lied. She didn’t need to know about what had happened here tonight.
“Will you ever change your mind? About the lodge?” Carly asked, but we both knew that wasn’t her question. She wanted to know if I would ever change my mind about her.
“I’m happy where I am,” I said simply.
Carly looked at me for a long moment before turning away, her heels tapping across the floor. I let her go.
Lydia came up to me, face flushed as she grabbed my arm, showing me her phone. “I found an email from Gavin. It has his business logo and banking information.”
“Forward it to me,” I requested.
She did, and I opened it on my phone. The routing number belonged to a personal account, not a company. The rest was smoke and mirrors. There wasn’t a registered business ID, no tax number, just a name and a promise.
Lydia watched me work. “You’re calm.”
“I might be on the outside,” I murmured.
Inside I was seething. If Wickham didn’t close down the bank account, we might be able to find him and have him prosecuted.
I sent the email to my team of lawyers before giving my head lawyer a quick call.
I briefly went through the details of the situation.
“I want to find out who he is, where he is, and how we can prosecute him for anything and everything.”
I hung up the phone to find Lydia staring at me.
“I think I want to be you someday. That was amazing,” she murmured.
“For all we know, Gavin is operating under a fake name and has cleaned out that bank account already. It might not come to anything,” I dryly mentioned.
“I think I’m starting to see what Lucy likes about you. Good for her,” Lydia gave me a pat on the back and walked away.
The DJ started another song, something upbeat.
The noise rolled through the hall, muffled but steady.
I looked through the doorway. The guests were still laughing, their faces bright under the garlands.
Lucy stood near the dessert table, talking to Kitty, her eyes soft with relief that everything had gone well.
She didn’t know yet. She deserved a few more hours before she did.