Chapter 8 - The Woman in the Linen Uniform
We found the woman from the corridor through an ordinary payroll discrepancy.
Her name was Nora Finch.
She was not a resort employee, despite the uniform.
She had been hired through a temporary events supplier under an abbreviated name and paid twice the normal rate.
Marcus sent the records to investigators, who located Nora at a guesthouse in Malé.
Two days later, Vanessa shared the substance of Nora's voluntary statement with me.
Sarah had asked her to collect a black memory device from a private suite.
She had claimed it contained an embarrassing family video that must not appear at the reception.
Nora said she did not know about any plan to tamper with official security equipment.
She had delivered the pouch to a contractor who assured her he had authority to handle event technology.
“That doesn't explain the missing drives,” I said.
“No,” Vanessa agreed.
“But it begins to explain how people obtained access.”
The contractor had disappeared.
His phone was switched off.
And a ferry operator remembered seeing him leave with an unusually large equipment case.
Meanwhile, Greg finally sent us the rest of his documents.
Sarah had borrowed heavily to create an image of wealth for her wedding season.
Luxury jewelry.
Designer fittings.
A private stylist.
She had promised several vendors that a wealthy relative would cover additional costs after the ceremony.
That relative was not Greg's father.
The invoices listed Vale Horizon Group as the expected payer.
I felt sick.
“Did she forge my authorization?”
“That's what we're checking,” Vanessa said.
Sarah had not merely accepted my generosity.
She had attempted to extend it beyond the agreed wedding budget.
My chief financial officer, Naomi Chen, reviewed the expenses and discovered six pending reimbursement requests that I had never approved.
Their descriptions were vague.
VIP hospitality.
Private travel.
Special communications.
One invoice had a signature block containing my name in a font I'd never used.
Naomi looked at me across the conference table.
“This isn't a family argument anymore.”
“I know.”
We froze disputed payments and preserved the documentation.
I instructed her to ensure no legitimate worker went unpaid because Sarah had misrepresented an authorization.
The florist, musicians, catering staff, and housekeepers had done their jobs.
Their livelihoods should not become casualties of my family's cruelty.
That evening, Greg called Vanessa with a discovery.
He had opened a suitcase Sarah had left behind.
Inside was a velvet jewelry box containing a bracelet I'd purchased for Diane years earlier.
Underneath the box was a folded sheet with my company's corporate seal.
It was a draft agreement transferring management rights to Haven Island for ninety-nine years.
At the bottom were two signature lines.
One for me.
And one for my father.
I stared at the scanned document.
My father had spent the wedding telling me I'd never belong on the island.
May you like
Apparently he'd been planning to take control of it.
