Chương 4
Her phone displayed forty-three unread messages.
A video had begun circulating.
The first link came from her cousin Beth, who wrote, I didn’t post it, I swear. Another came from a coworker who added no words at all. The clip was twenty-seven seconds long. It began with Helen already pointing. The audio was clear enough to catch every word.
Maya watched herself in the background, a small figure at a distant table. She saw Mark rise. She saw her own hand touch his arm. She saw the uneven laughter.
The video ended before she left.
Comments had accumulated beneath a repost by a local wedding guest with twelve thousand followers.
Some viewers assumed it was staged. Others demanded context. A woman who claimed to have attended wrote that Maya had always been jealous of Clara. Another guest answered that Maya had barely spoken all evening. Someone identified Helen as a member of the board of a regional arts foundation. Someone else tagged Clara’s real estate firm.
Maya turned off the screen.
Mark opened his eyes.
“Is it bad?”
“It depends what you mean by bad.”
He stood stiffly and came to the couch. Maya handed him the phone.
He watched once.
“Who posted it?”
“I don’t know.”
“I can find out.”
“Don’t.”
“Maya, it’s already public.”
“That doesn’t mean you need to pour gasoline on it.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“You were planning something.”
He sat beside her. “I was planning to make sure nobody gets to call you a liar.”
“They’re not calling me a liar yet.”
“They will.”
The certainty in his voice made her angry.
“You don’t know that.”
“I know your parents.”
“You know three years of them.”
“That has been plenty.”
Maya stood. The dress pulled awkwardly beneath her arms. “I need my laptop.”
“I’ll drive you.”
“I can get a rideshare.”
“I’m driving you.”
“Mark.”
“I am not letting you walk into that house alone.”
“I’m not walking into the house. My car is outside.”
“And if your father is waiting?”
“Then he’ll wait.”
Mark looked ready to argue, then pressed his lips together.
“Fine,” he said. “But I’m driving.”
The bakery downstairs had opened by the time they left. A line of customers stretched along the counter, people in running clothes and office clothes ordering coffee as though the world had not shifted overnight. Mark bought Maya a plain bagel without asking. She ate half in the car because refusing would have become another argument.
Her parents lived in McLean in a five-bedroom house George had purchased during the best year his company ever had. The front lawn had been reseeded for wedding photographs. White rental vans still lined the street, and silver balloons from the rehearsal dinner sagged against a hedge.
Maya’s car sat near the mailbox.
George waited beside it.
He had removed his tie, but otherwise he still wore the dark suit from the reception. His eyes were bloodshot. He held Maya’s laptop bag in one hand.
Mark parked across the street.
“I’ll go,” Maya said.
“I’m staying here.”
“Good.”
She stepped out wearing Mark’s jacket over the wrinkled dress and yesterday’s shoes in her hand. Morning air carried the smell of wet grass and diesel from a catering truck.
George watched her approach.
“You embarrassed your mother,” he said.
Maya stopped on the opposite side of the car.
“Give me the laptop.”
“You walked out during your sister’s reception.”
“Give me the laptop.”
His grip tightened on the handle. “Helen made a poor joke.”
“No.”
“What do you call it?”
“What she meant to say.”
George glanced toward Mark’s car. “He’s made you theatrical.”
Maya held out her hand.
“George.”
She rarely called him by his first name. His face changed slightly.
“The transfer has to be initiated before noon,” he said. “I emailed the instructions.”
“I’m not transferring anything until I review the accounts.”
“There isn’t time.”
“Then you should have shown me the accounts earlier.”
“I was occupied with your sister’s wedding.”
“So was the company, apparently.”
His gaze sharpened. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“I saw three payments coded as materials that went to event vendors.”
“They were temporary.”
“One was thirty-eight thousand dollars.”
“We’ll replace it after the gifts are deposited.”
Maya stared at him. “You used company operating funds for the wedding.”
“It was a timing issue.”
“Did the bank know?”
“The bank doesn’t need to know every internal transfer.”
“It does when the loan agreement restricts owner distributions.”
George stepped closer. “Lower your voice.”
“There is nobody listening.”
“Mark is sitting across the street like a hired guard.”
“He drove me.”
“He has always wanted to turn you against us.”
Maya laughed once, without humor. “You managed that without help.”
For the first time, George looked uncertain. It lasted less than a second.
“The transfer protects you too,” he said. “You signed the guarantee.”
“I signed because you told me the company was stable except for the temporary effects of your stroke.”
“It was.”
“You spent operating cash on Clara’s wedding.”
“Your mother insisted on certain things.”
“Did she sign the checks?”
His jaw shifted. “This family has obligations.”
“To chandeliers?”
“To reputation. To relationships. To your sister.”
Maya looked past him toward the house. Through the front window, Helen stood behind a curtain, watching.
“Give me the laptop.”
George held it another moment, then passed it across the roof of the car.
“You have until noon,” he said.
“No. You have until noon.”
“For what?”
“To send me the complete ledger, bank statements, payroll records, tax notices, and every invoice paid from the line in the last eighteen months.”
“I will not be audited by my own daughter.”
“Then don’t ask your daughter for sixty thousand dollars.”
She opened the car door.
George placed his palm against it before she could get in.
“Do you think those employees will thank you when their checks bounce?”
The question found the exact place he intended.
May you like
Maya kept her face still.
“Move your hand.”
