Part 7
We gave Derek exactly what he wanted: eleven more days of grief theater, a small private funeral he didn't attend "out of respect," and a wedding date he set for Serena two weeks after that, moving fast because the trust's dental confirmation clock was ticking and he wanted the marriage finalized before anyone asked questions.
He rented the same waterfront venue where he'd married me three years earlier. I found that detail almost funny.
The morning of the wedding, Harold filed the paperwork revoking the trust in person, with Vivian and Julian Hale standing beside him, very much alive, very much witnessed by a court clerk and two Charleston PD detectives Julian had spent the last two weeks quietly briefing on Harrow Maritime Holdings and a fifteen-year-old brake failure.
We didn't storm the wedding.
We let the detectives do that.
I watched from across the room as two officers approached Derek at the altar, Serena's bouquet still in her hands, and asked him to step outside regarding an active investigation into the deaths of Robert and Margaret Hale.
Derek turned white before he turned to look for me.
He found me standing at the back of the room, alive, dry, and holding the folder with his own hidden wire transfers inside it.
"Vivian," he said. Just my name. Like it might still work on me.
"Play dead," I told him. "He's watching." I nodded toward the detectives. "Actually, everyone's watching now, Derek."
“My husband drove the car into the river with my brother and me trapped inside.”
