Chapter 9
Marjorie went rigid.
“What authorities?”
“Law enforcement and the relevant financial institutions.”
Brandon pushed his chair back.
“Hold on. You said this was just paperwork for a loan.”
Ethan turned toward him.
“Shut up, Brandon.”
“No. You told me George agreed to help.”
“I said shut up.”
Brandon's face drained of color.
He looked at me.
“Lydia, I swear, I didn't know about the signatures.”
I believed that he was frightened.
I didn't yet know whether I believed anything else.
Martin raised one hand.
“Everyone should remain calm.”
But Marjorie was no longer listening.
She pointed at me.
“This is your fault.”
I stared at her.
“Mine?”
“You let your father turn you against your own husband. You let him fill your head with suspicion. That old man was vindictive until the day he died.”
The room seemed to tilt.
Dad's funeral flashed before me.
His coffin.
The rain.
The church bell.
The way I had touched the polished wood because I couldn't touch his hand anymore.
I stood slowly.
“Don't talk about my father.”
Marjorie laughed bitterly.
“Your father was a selfish man who hoarded money while people around him suffered.”
I stepped closer.
“He worked six days a week for forty-three years. He paid his employees when the shop barely made a profit. He fixed cars for widows who couldn't afford repairs. He helped families you never knew existed.”
My voice trembled.
“But you only saw what you could take.”
For once, Marjorie had nothing ready to say.
Then Ethan spoke.
“Lydia, if you destroy this family over money, don't expect me to be here when you come to your senses.”
I looked at him.
Really looked.
The man I had married stood three feet away.
Same brown eyes.
Same familiar face.
Same wedding ring.
But I couldn't find the person I thought I loved.
I remembered our wedding.
Dad walking me down the aisle.
Ethan promising to stand beside me in sickness and health, in joy and sorrow.
Five days after my father's death, those promises sounded like something spoken by a stranger.
I took a slow breath.
“Ethan, I haven't destroyed anything.”
He waited.
“You did.”
His expression changed.
And then, in a voice so quiet I almost missed it, he said something that stopped my heart.
“You think your father told you everything?”
Martin's head lifted.
Ethan gave a short, bitter laugh.
“You really think George was some innocent old man who never kept secrets?”