Chapter 7: What Savannah Wrote
My father was waiting near the bar with two glasses of water and the expression he'd worn when I was sixteen and came home from a bad situation and didn't want to talk about it yet.
He handed me one glass and didn't ask anything.
I drank half of it.
"How bad?" he said.
"He staged it," I said.
"The dress, the ring, Diane filming.
He needed me to look unstable in case I walked out."
My father set his glass down very carefully.
"Because of the investors."
"There's a morality clause.
He needed to be married before the Series B closed.
If I walked out and caused a scene, he could frame it as my breakdown.
His reputation stays intact.
The deal closes."
My father was quiet for a moment.
"And the ring?"
"He gave Savannah my grandmother's ring to hold.
He told her it was an accident.
That my mother had left it in the suite."
"Your mother," my father said, "put that ring in your hands herself last night."
"I know."
He picked up his glass again.
Held it without drinking.
"What do you need from me?"
"Nothing yet.
I need to go upstairs and get what Savannah wrote."
He nodded once.
"I'll be here."
I took the back staircase.
Slower.
Quieter.
I needed two minutes to think before I walked back into that room.
Savannah was still there when I opened the door.
She had changed out of my dress.
It was folded over the back of the chaise, which struck me as oddly careful.
She was sitting near the window in a pale blue slip dress, a single sheet of hotel stationery on her knee, her handwriting filling most of it.
She held it out when she saw me.
I read it standing up.
It was all there.
The conversation three days ago.
Ethan asking her to try on the dress for the photographer.
The ring, and what he'd told her about it.
The morality clause, and what he'd said about needing the wedding to happen before Monday.
One line near the bottom stopped me.
*He said if Claire found out and made a scene, we'd have what we needed.
His exact words were: "Let her react.
That's the point."*
I read that line twice.
"He said that to you," I said.
"Yes."
"'Let her react.
That's the point.'"
"Yes."
I folded the paper.
"Savannah." I looked at her.
"Why are you telling me this?"
She looked at her hands for a long moment.
"Because I've been telling myself for five years that he loves me differently than he loves you," she said.
"And today I watched him use me as a prop."
The room was very quiet.
"I'm sorry," she said.
"I know that doesn't fix anything."
"It doesn't," I said.
"But it helps."
I put the paper in my bag.
"What are you going to do?" she asked.
"I'm going to call Renata.
Then I'm going to make a decision about the loan."
"And Ethan?"
I picked up my bag.
"He's going to have a very difficult week," I said.
I was almost at the door when Savannah spoke again.
"Diane still has the footage," she said.
"From her phone.
She left to send it to someone.
I don't know who."
I stopped.
"Who would she send it to?"
Savannah's expression told me she had a guess but didn't want to say it.
"Savannah."
"Ethan has a contact at one of the business papers," she said quietly.
"Someone he's used before.
To manage stories."
I thought of the two reporters downstairs.
The ones Ethan had personally invited to cover the wedding for the society page.
"He was going to plant it," I said.
"If I made a scene, Diane sends the footage to his contact.
The story runs.
Bride has breakdown at Napa wedding.
Ethan looks like the wronged party."
Savannah didn't answer.
She didn't need to.
I took out my phone and called Renata.
"I need you to draft a formal withdrawal of co-signatory consent," I said.
"Effective immediately.
And I need you to find out if there's any legal exposure if someone publishes footage of me without my consent."
"There is," Renata said.
"Significantly.
California has strong protections."
"Good," I said.
"I'll need both by morning."
I ended the call.
Then I texted Diane: *I know about the footage and I know who you were going to send it to.
Delete it.
This is the only time I will ask nicely.*
Three minutes passed.
Then: *It's deleted.*
May you like
I didn't believe her.
But it was a start.
