My Sister Got Pregnant by My Fiancé, but Mom Still Demanded I Walk Down the Aisle—Until I Exposed the $6,400 She Secretly Took from My Wedding Fund to Protect Them...

I didn't go back to the townhouse I shared with Reid. Instead, I drove directly to the downtown law offices of Marcus Vance & Associates. Marcus wasn't just my uncle; he was my father's younger brother, a pit-bull corporate litigator who had spent thirty years watching Eleanor Vance spend my father’s money while looking down her nose at the rest of the family.

It was 6:30 p.m. The cleaning crew was already vacuuming the executive lobby, but Marcus’s corner office light was on.

I knocked once on the heavy glass door.

Marcus looked up from behind a mountain of deposition binders, his reading glasses perched on the tip of his nose. "Brooke? What on earth are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at a spa or rehearsing vows?"

I didn't answer. I walked in, closed the door, pulled the thumb drive from my purse, and set it on his blotter alongside the folded ultrasound picture.

"I need three things," I said. "A forensic audit of my joint account with Reid, an immediate restraining order draft, and your word that you won't tell Dad until tomorrow at seven o'clock."

Marcus didn't touch the drive immediately. He looked at my face, then down at the sonogram. Slowly, he reached out, picked up the glossy black-and-white printout, and read the patient name: *Sloane Vance. Estimated Gestational Age: 14 Weeks.*

His jaw clenched. "Who is the father?"

"Reid."

Marcus closed his eyes for five long seconds. When he opened them, the easygoing uncle was completely gone, replaced by the ruthless trial lawyer who had dismantled three Fortune 500 mergers.

"How long has Eleanor known?" Marcus asked quietly.

"Long enough to steal sixty-four hundred dollars from my personal wedding fund to pay for the private clinics," I said. "And long enough to draft an adoption plan to hand Sloane's baby to me and Reid after we're legally married so Arthur's commercial alliance with the Montgomery family doesn't fall apart."

Marcus let out a slow, poisonous whistle through his teeth. "Arthur would kill Reid with his bare hands."

"That's why Eleanor is keeping it from him. She told me Dad's heart wouldn't survive the scandal. She threatened to cut me off from everything if I didn't smile and walk down the aisle on Saturday."

Marcus leaned back in his leather chair, his fingers drumming against the armrest. "Eleanor has no control over your father's trusts. She thinks she does because Arthur lets her run the household accounts, but the primary family trust is held under my firm’s stewardship. Arthur signed an irrevocable power of attorney over to you three years ago when he had his first stent put in."

I paused, stunned. "He gave me power of attorney?"

"He trusts you, Brooke. He knows your mother lives in a fantasy world of social calendars and country club rankings. He knew if he died suddenly, Eleanor would drain the commercial accounts within twelve months to maintain appearances." Marcus tapped the thumb drive. "What do you want to do?"

"I want the rehearsal dinner," I said.

"The rehearsal dinner is at The Grandview Ballroom tomorrow night," Marcus said, his brows pulling together. "Reid's parents paid for the catering. There will be eighty people there. The mayor, the bank board, Arthur's partners."

"I know."

"It will be a bloodbath."

"They stole my money, Marcus. They treated me like an incubator and a scapegoat so Reid could get his father's partnership and Sloane could avoid public shame. I am not going to quietly sign an annulment three months from now in a judge's chambers while Eleanor tells the bridge club that Reid and I 'grew apart.'"

Marcus looked at me for a long moment. A slow, thin smile touched the corner of his mouth.

"What do you need on this drive?" he asked.

"Every bank transfer from Eleanor's IP address into Sloane's clinic accounts," I replied. "The timestamped emails where Mom instructed Reid to keep his mouth shut until Saturday afternoon. And the audio recording on my phone from twenty minutes ago in Sloane's loft."

Marcus reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a gold Montblanc pen.