My Versace dress had vanished three weeks earlier, but I never imagined I would find it on my husband's mistress at my father's funeral.<\/p>\n
She was sitting beside Grant in the front pew of St. Augustine's Cathedral, holding his hand, wearing the midnight blue silk my father had given me for my fortieth birthday.<\/p>\n
For a moment, I couldn't move.<\/p>\n
"Natalie," she said pleasantly when she noticed me. "I'm so sorry about your father."<\/p>\n
Her name was Rebecca Thornton.<\/p>\n
Most people called her Becca.<\/p>\n
I had met her twice at Grant's company functions, where she introduced herself as a marketing associate and praised my husband's leadership with rather more enthusiasm than the occasion required.<\/p>\n
Now she was wearing my dress.<\/p>\n
Not something similar.<\/p>\n
Mine.<\/p>\n
I recognized the delicate crystal embroidery around the neckline, the unusual blue that shifted toward silver beneath bright light, and the nearly invisible repair beneath the left shoulder.<\/p>\n
My father had insisted on having that repair done professionally after I damaged the fabric at his birthday dinner.<\/p>\n
He said beautiful things deserved a second chance.<\/p>\n
I wondered what he would have said about the woman wearing it now.<\/p>\n
"Rebecca," I said, "why are you sitting with my husband?"<\/p>\n
She glanced at Grant, then returned her attention to me.<\/p>\n
"Because he wanted me here."<\/p>\n
Grant stared straight ahead.<\/p>\n
His jaw was tight, and his fingers remained tangled with hers.<\/p>\n
"Grant."<\/p>\n
He finally looked up.<\/p>\n
"Not here, Natalie."<\/p>\n
I studied his face.<\/p>\n
We had been married sixteen years. I knew the difference between his embarrassment, annoyance, and fear.<\/p>\n
This was fear.<\/p>\n
"Why is she wearing my dress?"<\/p>\n
Rebecca looked down at herself.<\/p>\n
"Oh, this?"<\/p>\n
She smoothed the fabric across her knees.<\/p>\n
"Grant said it would be appropriate."<\/p>\n
I felt something cold settle in my stomach.<\/p>\n
"Appropriate for what?"<\/p>\n
"For supporting him," she answered.<\/p>\n
I stared at her.<\/p>\n
Behind us, a few people stopped speaking.<\/p>\n
My aunt Helen, who had been guiding mourners toward their seats, turned in our direction.<\/p>\n
"Supporting him?" I repeated. "At my father's funeral?"<\/p>\n
Rebecca gave a delicate shrug.<\/p>\n
"Grief affects everyone differently."<\/p>\n
It was such a ridiculous thing to say that I almost missed the significance of what she was doing.<\/p>\n
She wasn't trying to hide.<\/p>\n
She wanted to be seen.<\/p>\n
She wanted everyone attending my father's funeral to understand that my husband had chosen her.<\/p>\n
Even the dress was part of the announcement.<\/p>\n
"Take it off," I said.<\/p>\n
Grant stood abruptly.<\/p>\n
"Natalie."<\/p>\n
I didn't look at him.<\/p>\n
"That's my dress."<\/p>\n
Rebecca tilted her head.<\/p>\n
"You're making people uncomfortable."<\/p>\n
"My father is lying twenty feet away."<\/p>\n
Her expression tightened.<\/p>\n
For a fraction of a second, I thought she might apologize.<\/p>\n
Instead, she lifted her chin.<\/p>\n
"I'm practically family now."<\/p>\n
My aunt Helen arrived beside me.<\/p>\n
She was seventy-two, dressed in a black wool suit, with a pearl brooch that had belonged to my grandmother.<\/p>\n
Helen had spent the morning organizing flowers, helping relatives find their seats, and quietly managing the thousand small details that become unbearable when someone dies.<\/p>\n
She looked at Rebecca's hand.<\/p>\n
Then at Grant.<\/p>\n
Then at my dress.<\/p>\n
"Young woman," she said, "you're in the wrong seat."<\/p>\n
Rebecca blinked.<\/p>\n
"Excuse me?"<\/p>\n
"That place belongs to my niece."<\/p>\n
"Grant invited me."<\/p>\n
Helen's expression did not change.<\/p>\n
"Grant was not in charge of the invitations."<\/p>\n
Several people looked away, suddenly fascinated by the cathedral's stained glass.<\/p>\n
Grant rubbed his forehead.<\/p>\n
"Can we please not do this?"<\/p>\n
I turned toward him.<\/p>\n
"How long?"<\/p>\n
He closed his eyes.<\/p>\n
"Nat."<\/p>\n
"How long have you been sleeping with her?"<\/p>\n
Rebecca inhaled sharply.<\/p>\n
Helen made no sound.<\/p>\n
Grant glanced toward the casket.<\/p>\n
"Your father deserves some respect."<\/p>\n
I had never wanted to strike anyone more than I wanted to strike my husband in that moment.<\/p>\n
Instead, I moved closer.<\/p>\n
"Then show him some."<\/p>\n
He stepped back.<\/p>\n
Rebecca rose halfway from the pew, clutching her handbag.<\/p>\n
For the first time, she appeared to realize that the spectators weren't admiring her courage.<\/p>\n
They were horrified.<\/p>\n
"Let's go," Grant whispered to her.<\/p>\n
But Helen put her hand on my arm.<\/p>\n
"Sweetheart, come with me."<\/p>\n
I wanted to argue.<\/p>\n
I wanted to demand the dress immediately, ask Grant for his phone, and force him to explain every night he had come home late.<\/p>\n
But I looked toward the altar.<\/p>\n
My father's casket rested beneath white roses and blue delphiniums.<\/p>\n
He had chosen those flowers for my mother's funeral eleven years earlier.<\/p>\n
I remembered him standing beside me then, one hand on my shoulder, his other hand shaking so badly that he couldn't fasten his cuff link.<\/p>\n
"One thing at a time, Natalie," he had whispered that morning. "We don't have to survive the whole year today."<\/p>\n
I could almost hear him saying it again.<\/p>\n
So I let Helen lead me to the other side of the front pew.<\/p>\n
Rebecca remained where she was for a moment.<\/p>\n
Then Grant guided her toward the back.<\/p>\n
I didn't watch them leave.<\/p>\n
I kept my eyes on the flowers.<\/p>\n
My father had been seventy-six when he died.<\/p>\n
His name was Edward Bennett, and he had practiced law in our city for more than forty years.<\/p>\n
People respected him because he was thorough, because he kept his word, and because he never pretended to know something he hadn't checked.<\/p>\n
He was also stubborn.<\/p>\n
When I was twelve, I brought home a report card with one disappointing grade and tried to hide it beneath a stack of library books.<\/p>\n
He found it.<\/p>\n
Instead of punishing me, he made tea and asked why I thought one bad grade was more dangerous than lying about it.<\/p>\n
That conversation stayed with me longer than anything I learned in school.<\/p>\n
He raised me to believe that mistakes could be repaired.<\/p>\n
Dishonesty was harder.<\/p>\n
When I married Grant Whitmore at twenty-nine, Dad welcomed him.<\/p>\n
He never treated Grant as an outsider.<\/p>\n
He took him fishing.<\/p>\n
He introduced him to clients.<\/p>\n
He invited him to Sunday dinners even after Grant developed the habit of arriving late with apologies about work.<\/p>\n
My husband was intelligent, charming, and ambitious.<\/p>\n
He worked for a commercial development firm called Westbridge Partners, eventually becoming a senior executive.<\/p>\n
He liked expensive watches, well-cut suits, and restaurants where the waiters remembered his preferred wine.<\/p>\n
At first, I found those tastes amusing.<\/p>\n
My father called Grant a man who wanted to arrive before he had decided where he was going.<\/p>\n
I laughed.<\/p>\n
Grant did not.<\/p>\n
For years, their relationship remained cordial.<\/p>\n
Then something changed.<\/p>\n
During the last six months of Dad's life, he began asking questions about Grant's business.<\/p>\n
He asked whether the company was financially stable.<\/p>\n
He wondered why Grant had recently opened a joint renovation account in our names.<\/p>\n
He asked if I understood the investment paperwork Grant wanted me to sign.<\/p>\n
I thought Dad was being overly cautious.<\/p>\n
He had spent his career imagining worst-case scenarios.<\/p>\n
Grant, meanwhile, insisted the commercial property investment was a routine opportunity.<\/p>\n
"Your father's a brilliant attorney," Grant said one evening, "but he doesn't understand how development financing works."<\/p>\n
I accepted that explanation.<\/p>\n
I wanted to believe both men meant well.<\/p>\n
I did not know that my father had already begun investigating.<\/p>\n
Three weeks before the funeral, I discovered that my Versace dress was missing.<\/p>\n
It had been a birthday present the previous autumn.<\/p>\n
Dad purchased it after accompanying me to a charity reception where I admired the display in a boutique window.<\/p>\n
I told him it was far too expensive.<\/p>\n
He went back alone.<\/p>\n
On my birthday, he presented the box with the pleased expression of a man who had successfully pulled off a complicated practical joke.<\/p>\n
Inside was a card.<\/p>\n
For the evenings when you need to remember that elegance can be armor.<\/p>\n
He had always loved dramatic language.<\/p>\n
I wore the dress only twice.<\/p>\n
Once to his birthday dinner.<\/p>\n
Once to an anniversary celebration with Grant.<\/p>\n
Afterward, I returned it to its garment bag in the bedroom closet.<\/p>\n
When I couldn't find it, I searched everywhere.<\/p>\n
I checked the cedar chest.<\/p>\n
I looked behind winter coats.<\/p>\n
I telephoned the dry cleaner.<\/p>\n
I even emptied a box of old handbags, although I knew perfectly well the dress couldn't have fit inside.<\/p>\n
Grant watched me search one evening.<\/p>\n
"Maybe you moved it," he suggested.<\/p>\n
"I didn't."<\/p>\n
"You've had a lot on your mind."<\/p>\n
"That doesn't mean I forgot where I put a dress."<\/p>\n
He shrugged.<\/p>\n
"Then perhaps the cleaner misplaced it."<\/p>\n
I remember feeling guilty about snapping at him.<\/p>\n
Dad had been ill.<\/p>\n
I was sleeping badly.<\/p>\n
Grant seemed patient.<\/p>\n
Now I understood that his patience had been the patience of someone waiting for a lie to become accepted.<\/p>\n
The cathedral organ began playing.<\/p>\n
Helen squeezed my hand.<\/p>\n
I sat through the opening hymn with my father's prayer book resting on my lap.<\/p>\n
The pages smelled faintly of paper and his familiar aftershave.<\/p>\n
When Father Martinez began speaking, I heard his voice but struggled to follow the words.<\/p>\n
He described Dad's dedication to his clients, his quiet charitable work, and his fondness for correcting newspaper grammar.<\/p>\n
People smiled at that.<\/p>\n
Dad had once written a three-page letter to the local editor about a misplaced apostrophe.<\/p>\n
I smiled, too.<\/p>\n
Then I looked down at the empty space beside me.<\/p>\n
Grant should have been there.<\/p>\n
Whatever had happened between us, he should have understood that today was about helping me bury my father.<\/p>\n
Instead, he had brought Rebecca.<\/p>\n
When the congregation stood, I glimpsed them toward the rear of the cathedral.<\/p>\n
She was leaning close to whisper something.<\/p>\n
He shook his head.<\/p>\n
She looked irritated.<\/p>\n
I turned away.<\/p>\n
After the final prayer, mourners approached me in a slow procession.<\/p>\n
Some offered condolences.<\/p>\n
Others shared memories.<\/p>\n
A retired judge told me that Dad had once stayed in court until nearly midnight to make sure an elderly widow received a fair settlement.<\/p>\n
A former secretary remembered that he never forgot a birthday.<\/p>\n
One man confessed that Dad had paid his law school tuition anonymously.<\/p>\n
I had never known.<\/p>\n
Each story made him feel both closer and farther away.<\/p>\n
The man I had loved was becoming a collection of memories belonging to everyone.<\/p>\n
Near the cathedral doors, Mr. Blackwood approached.<\/p>\n
His first name was Arthur, although I had called him Mr. Blackwood since childhood.<\/p>\n
He and Dad had practiced law together before Arthur established his own estate practice.<\/p>\n
He was tall, silver-haired, and always seemed to carry the faint smell of leather briefcases and peppermint.<\/p>\n
"Natalie," he said, taking my hands, "your father would have been proud of you today."<\/p>\n
I nodded.<\/p>\n
I couldn't speak.<\/p>\n
His eyes moved briefly over my shoulder.<\/p>\n
I turned.<\/p>\n
Grant and Rebecca stood near the entrance.<\/p>\n
Rebecca had removed her coat, displaying the dress fully.<\/p>\n
Arthur's expression changed.<\/p>\n
"Is that the dress Edward gave you?"<\/p>\n
"Yes."<\/p>\n
He looked carefully at my face.<\/p>\n
"Did you lend it to her?"<\/p>\n
"No."<\/p>\n
His mouth tightened.<\/p>\n
"Would you come to my office after the burial? There are matters we need to address."<\/p>\n
"I thought the estate meeting was tomorrow."<\/p>\n
"Your father requested that certain instructions be reviewed as soon as possible."<\/p>\n
"Why?"<\/p>\n
Arthur hesitated.<\/p>\n
"Because he was worried about you."<\/p>\n
I stared at him.<\/p>\n
Dad had been worried about me?<\/p>\n
I knew he had concerns about Grant.<\/p>\n
But I had never imagined they were serious enough to affect his estate.<\/p>\n
"Did he tell you something?"<\/p>\n
Arthur looked toward the cathedral doors again.<\/p>\n
"He told me several things."<\/p>\n
Before I could ask more, Aunt Helen called me toward the hearse.<\/p>\n
The burial passed in fragments.<\/p>\n
A breeze carrying the smell of wet grass.<\/p>\n
The metallic scrape of a folding chair.<\/p>\n
The pale soil piled beside the grave.<\/p>\n
My aunt's hand gripping mine during the final prayer.<\/p>\n
When the casket was lowered, my chest tightened so violently that I couldn't draw a full breath.<\/p>\n
I had been holding myself together all morning.<\/p>\n
Now there was nothing left to hold.<\/p>\n
I cried until Helen wrapped both arms around me.<\/p>\n
Grant approached after the service.<\/p>\n
I saw him coming across the cemetery path, his shoes collecting damp grass.<\/p>\n
"Nat."<\/p>\n
I stepped away from Helen.<\/p>\n
"Where is Rebecca?"<\/p>\n
"At the car."<\/p>\n
"Of course she is."<\/p>\n
He looked exhausted.<\/p>\n
"This whole thing has gotten out of hand."<\/p>\n
I stared at him.<\/p>\n
"Gotten out of hand?"<\/p>\n
"I wanted to talk to you privately."<\/p>\n
"You brought your girlfriend to my father's funeral."<\/p>\n
He looked around.<\/p>\n
"Lower your voice."<\/p>\n
"Why?"<\/p>\n
"People are watching."<\/p>\n
I laughed once.<\/p>\n
It sounded terrible.<\/p>\n
"That's what you're worried about?"<\/p>\n
He rubbed the back of his neck.<\/p>\n
"Rebecca thought attending would show that we're not hiding anymore."<\/p>\n
I felt the ground shift beneath me.<\/p>\n
"You're not hiding anymore?"<\/p>\n
"That's not what I meant."<\/p>\n
"Then tell me what you meant."<\/p>\n
He looked toward the parking lot.<\/p>\n
The silence stretched.<\/p>\n
Finally, he said, "Things haven't been right between us for a while."<\/p>\n
I had expected him to deny the affair.<\/p>\n
I had expected anger, perhaps a clumsy explanation.<\/p>\n
I was not prepared for him to behave as though I should have understood our marriage was ending.<\/p>\n
"How long?" I asked.<\/p>\n
He said nothing.<\/p>\n
"Grant."<\/p>\n
"Several months."<\/p>\n
I stared at the man I had shared sixteen Christmas mornings with.<\/p>\n
The man who brought me coffee when I worked late.<\/p>\n
The man who knew I disliked mushrooms and always ordered them separately.<\/p>\n
"How many months?"<\/p>\n
"Eight."<\/p>\n
Eight months.<\/p>\n
I thought about birthdays.<\/p>\n
Holidays.<\/p>\n
The hospital visits Dad had endured.<\/p>\n
Grant had visited him twice during those final weeks.<\/p>\n
Both times, he had complained afterward about how uncomfortable hospitals made him.<\/p>\n
"Did you bring her into our house?"<\/p>\n
Grant looked away.<\/p>\n
That answered the question.<\/p>\n
"Did she take the dress?"<\/p>\n
He hesitated.<\/p>\n
"She liked it."<\/p>\n
I waited.<\/p>\n
"She saw it in your closet. I told her she could borrow it."<\/p>\n
"Borrow it?"<\/p>\n
He sighed.<\/p>\n
"It was a mistake."<\/p>\n
"She had it altered."<\/p>\n
"She said it didn't fit properly."<\/p>\n
I looked at him for a long time.<\/p>\n
"Did you know she was going to wear it today?"<\/p>\n
His silence was different this time.<\/p>\n
He knew I could see the answer.<\/p>\n
"Rebecca wanted to make a statement," he finally admitted.<\/p>\n
"And you allowed it."<\/p>\n
"I didn't think she'd actually do it."<\/p>\n
I shook my head.<\/p>\n
He stepped closer.<\/p>\n
"Please, Natalie. We can discuss this when things calm down."<\/p>\n
I moved away.<\/p>\n
"There is no calm version of what you did."<\/p>\n
His expression hardened.<\/p>\n
"We still have practical matters to settle."<\/p>\n
There it was.<\/p>\n
Not an apology.<\/p>\n
Not an acknowledgment of the pain he had caused.<\/p>\n
Practical matters.<\/p>\n
"Like what?"<\/p>\n
"The house. Our investments. The accounts."<\/p>\n
I remembered my father's question.<\/p>\n
Has Grant asked you to sign anything recently?<\/p>\n
A cold sensation moved through me.<\/p>\n
"Why are you talking about our accounts at my father's grave?"<\/p>\n
Grant looked startled.<\/p>\n
"I just mean we need to be sensible."<\/p>\n
"Did you bring Rebecca because you thought I would agree to something?"<\/p>\n
"No."<\/p>\n
But his answer came too quickly.<\/p>\n
I looked past him toward the black sedan in the parking lot.<\/p>\n
Rebecca was sitting in the passenger seat.<\/p>\n
She had taken my place there as well.<\/p>\n
"I need you to leave," I said.<\/p>\n
"Nat."<\/p>\n
"Now."<\/p>\n
He stood still.<\/p>\n
Then he straightened his jacket.<\/p>\n
"Fine."<\/p>\n
He walked away.<\/p>\n
I watched him open the driver's door.<\/p>\n
Rebecca leaned toward him before he had even sat down.<\/p>\n
The car pulled out of the cemetery.<\/p>\n
And something in me stopped waiting for Grant to turn around.<\/p>\n
Helen drove me to Arthur Blackwood's office that afternoon.<\/p>\n
His practice occupied the second floor of an old brick building overlooking the courthouse square.<\/p>\n
Dad used to bring me there when I was little.<\/p>\n
I would sit at the reception desk with colored pencils while he and Arthur argued over contract language.<\/p>\n
The place looked much the same.<\/p>\n
Dark wooden doors.<\/p>\n
Green desk lamps.<\/p>\n
Framed photographs of judges and attorneys.<\/p>\n
The familiar smell of polished furniture.<\/p>\n
But Dad was not there.<\/p>\n
That absence struck me harder than I expected.<\/p>\n
Arthur greeted us personally.<\/p>\n
He led us into the conference room, where several folders were arranged across a long table.<\/p>\n
My aunt sat beside me.<\/p>\n
Grant arrived ten minutes later.<\/p>\n
Rebecca accompanied him.<\/p>\n
She was still wearing the dress.<\/p>\n
Arthur rose.<\/p>\n
"Mrs. Thornton, I'm afraid this is a private estate meeting."<\/p>\n
Rebecca crossed her arms.<\/p>\n
"I'm here with Grant."<\/p>\n
"Are you an heir, beneficiary, or legal representative of an interested party?"<\/p>\n
She glanced at Grant.<\/p>\n
"We're together."<\/p>\n
Arthur waited.<\/p>\n
Rebecca's cheeks reddened.<\/p>\n
Grant cleared his throat.<\/p>\n
"She can wait outside."<\/p>\n
"But Grant\u2014"<\/p>\n
"Please."<\/p>\n
She stared at him.<\/p>\n
Then she walked into the reception area, her heels striking the wooden floor.<\/p>\n
Arthur closed the door.<\/p>\n
He opened the first folder.<\/p>\n
"Before we begin, Natalie, I need to explain something. Your father revised certain estate instructions shortly before his death."<\/p>\n
Grant straightened.<\/p>\n
"Revised them?"<\/p>\n
"Yes."<\/p>\n
"Why?"<\/p>\n
Arthur ignored the question.<\/p>\n
He looked directly at me.<\/p>\n
"Your father signed a personal statement on March seventeenth, the day before his final hospitalization. It was prepared with the proper formalities as part of his estate planning file."<\/p>\n
I remembered that date.<\/p>\n
It was the day I telephoned Dad after discovering messages on Grant's tablet.<\/p>\n
I had been standing in my kitchen, holding the phone with both hands.<\/p>\n
Dad had listened to me cry.<\/p>\n
I told him I believed Grant was having an affair.<\/p>\n
I admitted that I had seen messages from Rebecca.<\/p>\n
I told him about a hotel reservation that Grant claimed was connected to a business conference.<\/p>\n
And I confessed that I was frightened.<\/p>\n
Not only of losing my marriage.<\/p>\n
Of discovering that the life I trusted had never been what I thought it was.<\/p>\n
Dad asked whether Grant had mentioned financial paperwork.<\/p>\n
I told him about the investment documents.<\/p>\n
He made me promise not to sign anything.<\/p>\n
Then he said he loved me.<\/p>\n
It was the last real conversation we had.<\/p>\n
Arthur adjusted his glasses.<\/p>\n
"Your father wanted me to read the opening portion of his statement to you before discussing the estate."<\/p>\n
Grant shifted in his chair.<\/p>\n
Arthur began.<\/p>\n
"To my daughter Natalie, who called me yesterday about her husband's affair, I want to say what I was unable to say clearly during our conversation."<\/p>\n
My breath caught.<\/p>\n
Grant turned pale.<\/p>\n
Arthur continued.<\/p>\n
"You were afraid that learning the truth about your marriage meant you had failed. You have not failed because someone else chose to deceive you. I am concerned, however, that the deception may extend beyond your marriage."<\/p>\n
Grant leaned forward.<\/p>\n
"What does that mean?"<\/p>\n
Arthur raised one finger.<\/p>\n
"I'm not finished."<\/p>\n
My aunt Helen reached for my hand.<\/p>\n
Arthur looked back at the page.<\/p>\n
"I have instructed Arthur to examine the financial arrangements presented to you in recent months. Until he has completed that examination, I ask you not to sign anything Grant prepares or recommends."<\/p>\n
I felt my pulse beating in my throat.<\/p>\n
Arthur continued.<\/p>\n
"My daughter has always tried to see the best in people. I admire that quality. But generosity should not require surrendering judgment."<\/p>\n
Grant pushed back his chair.<\/p>\n
"This is outrageous."<\/p>\n
Arthur placed the statement on the table.<\/p>\n
"Your father was entitled to express his concerns."<\/p>\n
"He never liked me."<\/p>\n
Helen turned toward him.<\/p>\n
"Edward treated you like a son."<\/p>\n
Grant gave an irritated laugh.<\/p>\n
"Apparently not."<\/p>\n
I looked at him.<\/p>\n
For sixteen years, I had explained his sharp comments, his impatience, and his occasional cruelty as the unfortunate side effects of stress.<\/p>\n
Now I heard every word without trying to make it kinder.<\/p>\n
"Sit down, Grant," I said.<\/p>\n
He stared at me.<\/p>\n
"Excuse me?"<\/p>\n
"You wanted to discuss practical matters. Here's your chance."<\/p>\n
Slowly, he sat.<\/p>\n
Arthur opened another folder.<\/p>\n
"Your father also requested a review of a proposed investment involving Westbridge Partners and an entity called Harbor Point Development Holdings."<\/p>\n
Grant's face lost what little color remained.<\/p>\n
I recognized the name.<\/p>\n
Harbor Point.<\/p>\n
That was the project Grant had asked me to support.<\/p>\n
He claimed it involved purchasing commercial property near the waterfront.<\/p>\n
He said investors expected strong returns.<\/p>\n
He wanted me to sign documents allowing us to participate.<\/p>\n
I told him I wasn't comfortable risking our savings while Dad was sick.<\/p>\n
Grant said the paperwork was routine.<\/p>\n
And when I hesitated, he accused me of treating him like an incompetent stranger.<\/p>\n
Arthur placed a sheet of paper before me.<\/p>\n
"Do you recognize this?"<\/p>\n
It was an investment authorization form.<\/p>\n
My name appeared at the top.<\/p>\n
Beneath it was a signature.<\/p>\n
My signature.<\/p>\n
Except I had never signed it.<\/p>\n
I stared at the page.<\/p>\n
"Where did you get this?"<\/p>\n
"Your father received a copy through a professional contact who was reviewing the proposed transaction."<\/p>\n
Grant made a sharp sound.<\/p>\n
"That document doesn't prove anything."<\/p>\n
Arthur watched him.<\/p>\n
"I haven't said what it proves."<\/p>\n
I touched the edge of the paper.<\/p>\n
The signature looked like mine.<\/p>\n
The shape of the N.<\/p>\n
The long lower stroke on the W.<\/p>\n
Even the small hesitation before the final letter.<\/p>\n
Someone had practiced.<\/p>\n
I looked up at Grant.<\/p>\n
"Did you sign my name?"<\/p>\n
He stared at the document.<\/p>\n
"That's not what happened."<\/p>\n
"Then what happened?"<\/p>\n
He said nothing.<\/p>\n
Arthur opened a second folder.<\/p>\n
"Your father believed there were additional financial irregularities. He asked me to preserve the records and have them independently examined."<\/p>\n
"How much money?" I whispered.<\/p>\n
Arthur hesitated.<\/p>\n
"The preliminary figures are substantial."<\/p>\n
Grant stood.<\/p>\n
"I'm leaving."<\/p>\n
Arthur remained seated.<\/p>\n
"You're free to leave."<\/p>\n
Grant looked at me.<\/p>\n
"Don't let them turn you against me."<\/p>\n
I almost couldn't believe the words.<\/p>\n
He had brought his mistress to my father's funeral.<\/p>\n
He had allowed her to wear my stolen dress.<\/p>\n
Now he was sitting across from me while my father's attorney displayed a document bearing a signature I had not written.<\/p>\n
And somehow, Grant believed he was the victim.<\/p>\n
"Go," I said quietly.<\/p>\n
He stared.<\/p>\n
"Natalie\u2014"<\/p>\n
"Go."<\/p>\n
He left.<\/p>\n
Through the glass wall separating the conference room from reception, I watched Rebecca rise when she saw him.<\/p>\n
She reached for his arm.<\/p>\n
He pulled away.<\/p>\n
For the first time that day, they looked less like a triumphant couple and more like two people who had discovered their plans were no longer working.<\/p>\n
Arthur waited until the elevator doors closed.<\/p>\n
Then he slid another envelope toward me.<\/p>\n
"This is what your father wanted you to examine first."<\/p>\n
I opened it.<\/p>\n
Inside was a printed photograph.<\/p>\n
Grant and Rebecca stood outside a hotel.<\/p>\n
The image was dated.<\/p>\n
I recognized the date immediately.<\/p>\n
It was the evening Grant told me he was visiting my father in the hospital.<\/p>\n
END PART 1<\/p>\n