“Gabriel, they have proof,” I sobbed. “It looks so real.”

“I will handle it,” he said. “Hold tight.”

The call went dead.

I stared at the screen as the lock on the suite door clicked.

The heavy brass handle began to turn.

The heavy brass handle rattled violently before the latch clicked open.

I pressed my back against the cold glass of the vanity mirror, my heart hammering against my ribs.

Two uniformed hotel security guards pushed into the room, their dark blue suits smelling of cheap polyester and rain.

Behind them came Ethan and Vanessa, their faces tense with anticipation.

Vanessa’s white tulle bridal veil was pushed back over her shoulders, her face twisted in a look of manufactured betrayal.

“There she is,” Ethan said, pointing a finger at me. “She has the offshore routing files on her phone right now.”

One of the guards, a tall man with a silver name tag that read ‘Miller’, stepped toward me.

“Miss Bennett, we need you to come with us to the security office,” Guard Miller said, his voice flat.