Chapter 2 Broken Facade

# Chapter 2: Broken Facade

I didn't sleep that night. How could I? Gideon's words echoed in my mind on endless repeat: "Your brother should have died long ago." By dawn, I had convinced myself I'd misheard him—stress, grief, and wedding anxiety playing tricks on my exhausted mind.

When he called at 7 AM, his voice was warm honey through the phone.

"Good morning, beautiful. Ready for our big day?"

I hesitated, fingers gripping the phone tightly. "Gideon, about last night..."

"You were exhausted," he said softly. "I should have insisted we leave earlier. Are you feeling better now?"

His concern sounded genuine. Maybe I had imagined it all.

"I'm fine," I lied. "Just wedding jitters."

"That's my girl. I'll see you at the altar—I'll be the one in the tux, looking like the luckiest man alive."

After we hung up, I stared at my wedding dress hanging on the closet door—an elegant off-shoulder design that had made me feel like a princess during fittings. Now it seemed to mock me.

My phone buzzed with a text from Talia: "Coffee. Now. Important."

Thirty minutes later, we sat in a quiet corner of a café three blocks from my apartment. Talia looked as though she hadn't slept either, her dark hair pulled into a messy bun, eyes sharp with concern.

"You're not imagining things," she said without preamble. "I heard what he said."

The relief that washed through me was quickly followed by nausea. "Why would he say that? What does it mean?"

Talia glanced around before leaning closer. "Emmett came to see me two weeks before the accident. He was investigating Gideon's company."

"What? Why?"

"He thought Gideon was involved in something illegal—possibly dangerous." She pulled out her phone, showing me text messages from Emmett. "He was worried about you."

I scanned the messages, my heart racing:

*"Need to talk about G. Found something concerning."*

*"Don't tell Maren yet. Need proof first."*

*"Meeting a source tonight. This goes deeper than I thought."*

The last message was dated three days before his accident.

"Did he tell you what he found?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Talia shook her head. "He was being careful. Said he needed concrete evidence before approaching you. He knew how much you loved Gideon."

My wedding was in eight hours. Guests would be arriving from across the country. Everything was arranged, paid for, ready. And now this.

"What do I do?" I whispered.

Talia took my hands. "You don't have to decide right now. But whatever you choose, I'm with you."

---

I returned to my apartment to find a delivery—a massive arrangement of white roses with a card from Gideon: "To forever with you." The sweetness of the gesture felt hollow now, tainted by suspicion.

My phone rang again—my wedding planner, frantic about last-minute details. I answered mechanically, giving approvals without really hearing the questions. When she hung up, I stood in the middle of my living room, surrounded by half-packed honeymoon luggage and wedding paraphernalia.

On impulse, I opened my laptop and searched for news about Gideon's company, Blackwood Tech. The results showed nothing but glowing profiles and business success stories. I dug deeper, searching for any connection to Emmett, any hint of what my brother might have discovered.

Nothing.

I was about to close the laptop when I remembered—Emmett's spare key. He'd given it to me years ago when he moved into his downtown loft. "In case of emergencies," he'd said with a grin. "Or if you need to hide from the world for a while."

I found it in my desk drawer, buried under old receipts and business cards. Decision made, I texted my maid of honor that I needed a few hours alone to "center myself" before hair and makeup. Then I grabbed my purse and left.

Emmett's apartment was exactly as he'd left it—organized chaos that perfectly reflected my brilliant, slightly scattered brother. Books on finance and technology were stacked on the coffee table. A half-empty coffee mug sat beside his laptop. His running shoes were by the door, still caked with mud from his last jog.

I stood in the middle of his living room, overwhelmed by his absence. "Help me, Em," I whispered to the empty space. "What were you trying to tell me?"

I started with his desk, methodically going through drawers and files. Most contained ordinary things—bills, warranties for electronics, tax documents. In his bedroom, I checked under the mattress, behind drawers, inside books—anywhere he might have hidden something important.

Nothing.

Frustrated, I sat at his desk and opened his laptop. Password protected, of course. I tried the usual—his birthday, our parents' anniversary, the name of his first dog. Nothing worked.

My phone buzzed with a text from Gideon: "Haven't heard from you today. Everything okay?"

I stared at the message, my thumbs hovering over the screen. What could I say? Sorry, I'm breaking into my dead brother's apartment because I think you might have killed him?

"All good," I replied. "Just taking some quiet time before the chaos."

"Can't wait to see you. 5 hours and counting."

I set the phone down and continued searching. In his closet, I found a box of old photos—Emmett and me as children, Emmett at college graduation, Emmett with his arm around me at my 30th birthday party last year. At the bottom of the box was a USB drive labeled simply "MB."

My initials.

Heart pounding, I plugged it into his laptop. Another password prompt appeared. I tried the same combinations—nothing worked. Then I remembered our childhood code, the one we'd used to pass secret messages: our middle names plus the year we made the code. "AlexanderJane2002."

The drive unlocked.

Inside was a single audio file dated three days before his accident. With shaking hands, I clicked play.

Emmett's voice filled the room: "Maren, if you're listening to this, something's happened to me. I hope to God I'm being paranoid, but I need to make sure you have this information."

I pressed my hand to my mouth, tears springing to my eyes at the sound of his voice.

"I've been investigating Blackwood Tech's financials. Gideon's company is a front for something bigger—money laundering, at minimum. But there's more. The acquisition they're planning after your wedding? It's not about technology. It's about access. Military contracts, government databases."

There was a pause, the sound of papers rustling.

"The merger with your company isn't a coincidence, Maren. Your security clearance and government connections are what he's after. I followed the money trail. Three people who opposed Gideon in the past year have had 'accidents.' I think—"

A sound in the background interrupted him—a door opening.

"Someone's here. I have to go. Maren, don't trust him. Don't—"

The recording cut off abruptly.

I sat frozen, the implications crashing over me in waves. My company, Reed Cybersecurity, had contracts with several government agencies. The merger with Blackwood Tech had seemed like perfect synergy—his hardware, my software. A power couple in business and in life.

But if Emmett was right...

The sound of a key in the front door jolted me from my thoughts. I yanked the USB drive from the laptop, shoving it into my pocket as the door swung open.

Gideon stood in the doorway, his tall frame silhouetted against the hallway light. He was already dressed in part of his wedding suit—crisp white shirt, dark trousers, but no jacket or tie yet. He looked devastatingly handsome and utterly out of place in my brother's apartment.

"Here you are," he said, his voice carefully modulated between concern and relief. "When you weren't answering your phone, I got worried."

My phone—I glanced down to see three missed calls from him.

"How did you find me?" I managed to ask, trying to keep my voice steady.

"Your location sharing is on, remember? For our honeymoon surprise." He stepped into the apartment, eyes scanning the space before settling back on me. "What are you doing here, Maren?"

I swallowed hard, the USB drive feeling like it was burning a hole in my pocket. "Just... saying goodbye, I guess. Getting closure."

Gideon moved closer, reaching for my hands. I forced myself not to flinch as he took them in his.

"I understand," he said softly. "But we have a wedding in a few hours. Everyone's looking for you."

As he spoke, his gaze drifted to the open laptop behind me. Something flickered in his eyes—so brief I almost missed it. Calculation. Suspicion.

"What were you looking at?" he asked, voice still gentle but with a new edge.

"Nothing," I said too quickly. "The laptop's password protected. I couldn't get in."

His thumb stroked the back of my hand, the gesture no longer comforting but menacing. "Maren," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper, "what do you think you know?"

The air between us crackled with tension. In that moment, I saw it clearly—the mask slipping, revealing something cold and alien beneath the handsome features I thought I knew so well.

I pulled my hands away, forcing a smile. "I don't know what you mean. I should get going—hair and makeup, you know."

As I moved to step around him, his hand shot out, gripping my wrist with surprising strength. "Maren," he said, voice dangerously soft, "you shouldn't be here."

Our eyes locked, and in that moment, I knew with absolute certainty that my brother had been murdered—and I was engaged to his killer.