Walsh collected them.
“When someone signs a document pretending to be you, distance can become evidence.”
For the first time all evening, I felt something besides anger.
Clarity.
My father had believed my deployment made me convenient.
Hard to contact.
Hard to question.
Hard to contradict.
Instead, it gave me timestamps.
Orders.
Travel records.
Duty logs.
A trail I had not created for him.
I looked through the library doors again.
Celeste stood alone now.
She wasn’t crying.
She looked furious.
Then our eyes met.
And she began walking toward me.
PART 3: THE PRICE OF BEING USEFUL
Celeste shoved open the library door.
One of the agents blocked her.
“I need to speak to my sister.”
Walsh looked at me.
I nodded.
“Five minutes,” she said. “Door stays open.”
Celeste entered.
Up close, her makeup was still perfect.
That bothered me more than tears would have.
She looked at the papers on the desk.
“How much?”
“I don’t know.”
“Mave.”
“I said I don’t know.”
“Is it my wedding?”
“Part of it.”
Her nostrils flared.
“What does that mean?”
“Vendors. Yacht. Flowers. Clothes. Monaco.”
Her face tightened at each word.
“That’s not possible.”
“Why?”
“Because Dad paid.”
I stared at her.
“He told you that?”
“Of course he did.”
“With what?”
She blinked.
It was such a simple question.
She had never asked it.
That was the difference between us.
Celeste saw money the way some people saw electricity.
It existed because she expected it to.
You flipped a switch.
Lights came on.
You selected flowers.
Someone paid.
You booked Monaco.
Someone paid.
You wanted a room.
Someone disappeared.
“Did you sign anything using my name?” I asked.
Her mouth fell open.
“No.”
“Did you ever see Dad sign for me?”
“No.”
“Did you know Grandma left me a trust?”
Something changed.
Tiny.
But I caught it.
“Celeste.”
“I knew there was a family trust.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
She looked toward the doorway.
Then back at me.
“I heard Grandma talking to Mom once.”
“When?”
“Before your deployment.”
“What did she say?”
“I don’t remember.”
“You remember.”
Her eyes flashed.
“She said she wanted to make sure you were protected.”
I swallowed.
“And?”
“That’s it.”
“No.”
“Mave.”
“What else?”
Celeste crossed her arms.
“She thought you were going to spend your whole life taking care of everybody and never ask for anything.”
That sounded like Grandma.
It hurt because it sounded exactly like Grandma.
“She said Dad would respect the trust.”
Celeste’s voice lowered.
“Mom said it was insulting.”
“Insulting?”
“To Dad.”
“Why?”
“Because Grandma didn’t make him the beneficiary.”
Of course.
My father didn’t steal only because the money existed.
He stole because Grandma had placed something beyond him.
Authority offended him.
Independence offended him.
Especially mine.
I looked at my sister.
“You knew.”
“No. I knew there was money. I didn’t know Dad was using it.”
“But when he said he was paying for this wedding—”
“I believed him.”
“All of it?”
“Yes.”
“The yacht?”
“Yes.”
“Monaco?”
“Yes.”
“The handbags upstairs?”
Her face hardened again.
“Those are mine.”
“Paid for how?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s the problem.”
She stepped closer.
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Talk to me like I’m stupid.”
“I’m talking to you like someone who spent money without asking where it came from.”
“Oh, please. You think because you joined the Army you’re suddenly morally superior to everyone.”
There it was.
The safe fight.
The old fight.
Anything except the real one.
“This isn’t about the Army.”
“You make everything about the Army.”
“No. You make my service embarrassing because it’s the one thing I have that Dad didn’t buy.”
She stared at me.
I hadn’t planned to say it.
The truth often arrived before courage did.
Celeste laughed once, but her voice shook.
“You think Dad bought my life?”
“I think he taught you never to look at the bill.”
She slapped me.
The sound cracked through the library.
Agent Keller took one step forward.
I raised my hand.
“I’m fine.”
Celeste stared at her own palm.
For half a second, she looked horrified.
Then she looked angry because anger had always been easier.
“I hate you.”
“No.”
I touched my cheek.
“You hate what tonight is making you look at.”
She turned and left.
The library became quiet again.
Walsh sat down.
“You want to continue?”
“Yes.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
Because I suddenly understood something.
If I went upstairs, changed clothes, washed the wine from my sleeve, and let the agents handle everything, my father would spend the rest of his life saying this happened to him.
An accounting error.
A misunderstanding.
An overzealous investigation.
A confused daughter.
A vindictive daughter.
A damaged daughter.
He had already started.
One of his attorneys entered ten minutes later.
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