Chương 8
His mouth twitched.
Then the humor disappeared.
“There’s one more thing.”
I waited.
“Caroline sent my mother a screenshot of a bank transfer.”
My body went cold.
“From where?”
“Your business account.”
“To?”
“A company called Mercer Design Consulting.”
Daniel.
“How much?”
“Four thousand eight hundred.”
I knew the payment immediately.
“That was a research retainer.”
“I know.”
“For Daniel.”
“Yes.”
“Why did Susan think it was personal?”
“Because Caroline told her Mercer was the man in the photograph.”
I pressed my palms against the wall behind me.
The pattern was suddenly clearer.
Caroline had not merely suspected I was cheating.
She had assembled a story.
Money moving to an older man.
Trips to New York.
A cropped photograph.
A business debt.
A wealthy fiancé.
Enough fragments to make suspicion feel responsible.
“Where did Caroline get the transfer screenshot?”
“I don’t know.”
“I never sent it to her.”
“I know.”
My business banking required two-factor authentication.
My bookkeeper had access through a separate user profile.
Statements were stored in a shared accounting folder that Caroline should never have seen.
Except Caroline had spent one afternoon at my studio in May helping me choose photographs for my wedding website.
She had used the computer in my conference room while I met with a contractor.
The accounting drive could be reached from that machine.
I felt sick.
“She was in my office.”
Aaron followed the thought.
“When?”
“May.”
“Before the first email.”
“Yes.”
He looked toward the ballroom.
“You think she accessed the account?”
“I think she may have accessed exported statements.”
“Can you check?”
“Tomorrow.”
I pushed away from the wall.
The idea of returning to the ballroom made my stomach turn, but staying hidden felt worse.
Aaron caught up beside me.
“Claire.”
I stopped.
“What?”
“Do you want to postpone the wedding?”
The question hurt more than I expected.
He saw it.
“I’m not saying I want to.”
“Then why ask?”
“Because two weeks from now, you’re supposed to stand in front of all these people and promise something permanent while half your family may still be detonating.”
I looked at the carpet.
“You think I’ll regret marrying you.”
“No.”
“I think you might regret marrying me.”
His answer came too quickly.
“That’s not what this is.”
“You just watched my mother lie to an entire ballroom.”
“I’m aware.”
“My sister tried to convince you I was cheating.”
“Yes.”
“My father may have evidence that my mother paid someone six thousand dollars to bury whatever happened nine years ago.”
“Yes.”
“And your mother just left.”
His face tightened.
“My mother left because she was overwhelmed.”
“You don’t know that.”
“No.”
He gave me a tired look.
“See how irritating uncertainty is?”
I almost snapped at him.
Then I saw what he was doing.
Not winning.
Refusing to let me decide Susan’s judgment before Susan had spoken.
I looked away.
“I don’t want to postpone.”
“Okay.”
“But I don’t want to pretend tonight didn’t happen.”
“I’m not asking you to.”
“I need to know what my family has been doing.”
“Yes.”
“And I need you to stop protecting me from information.”
“Yes.”
I pointed at him.
“That one sounded automatic.”
“It was sincere and automatic.”
Despite myself, I smiled.
It vanished quickly.
“I’m still angry.”
“You should be.”
“That is also irritating.”
“I know.”
We went back inside together.
The ballroom had emptied by nearly half.
Some guests had gone home.
Others had migrated toward the lobby bar with the transparent excuse of giving us privacy.
My mother was sitting alone at the head table.
My father stood near Daniel by the windows.
Caroline had disappeared.
I looked around.
“Where is she?”
My aunt Denise answered from a nearby table.
“Ladies’ room.”
Her voice was tentative, as if she had just remembered that speaking to me might carry legal consequences.
Then she stood.
“Claire, honey.”
I braced myself.
She stopped several feet away.
“I owe you an apology.”
My mother’s head turned.
Denise saw it and kept going.
“That year, your mother told me not to offer you work.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
Denise owned a small staging company in Knoxville.
When I returned from college, I had asked if she needed help.
She had told me business was slow.
“I had three houses that summer,” she said.
“I could’ve used you.”
My throat tightened.
“Why didn’t you?”
“Evelyn said you needed space.”
My mother stood.
“Denise.”
“No.”
My aunt’s voice shook.
“You don’t get to do that right now.”
The silence that followed was different from the earlier ones.
Less shocked.
More dangerous.
People were beginning to make choices.
Denise looked at me.
“She said you were embarrassed about New York and that working in design would make things worse.”
I remembered that summer.
I had spent six weeks applying for jobs outside my field because every design rejection felt like proof that I had overestimated myself.
Aunt Denise had been ten miles away with three houses and too much work.
“How many people did you tell?”
My mother’s lips pressed together.
“Tell what?”
“That I was unstable.”
“I never used that word.”
“Fragile, then.”
“Overwhelmed.”
“How many?”
She looked around the ballroom.
Nobody rescued her.
That was new.
“I spoke to family.”
“Which family?”
She picked up her purse.
“I am not submitting to an interrogation.”
My father crossed the room.
“Evelyn.”
“I’m leaving.”
He stopped in front of her.
“For once, answer.”
She looked at him.
Something between them seemed to collapse without noise.
“I was trying to keep people from pressuring her.”
“No.”
His voice was quiet.
“You were trying to keep people from asking her questions.”
My mother’s expression hardened.
“That is not fair.”
Daniel stepped away from the windows.
“I think there’s another issue Claire should know.”
I looked at him.
My mother did too.
He held a document in one hand.
“I didn’t bring this because I expected to use it tonight.”
“What is it?”
May you like
“A copy of the settlement agreement.”
My father turned.
