Chapter 12
I almost laughed, but there was no humor in it.
“He presented a convincing picture of everything.”
Across the room, a server approached with a tray of champagne. I accepted a glass without drinking it.
The gala had become strangely unreal. I had entered believing the evening was about surviving Dominic’s public appearance with Vanessa. Now I was holding evidence that my past was connected to his business, possibly in ways neither of us had understood.
Or in ways he had understood perfectly.
“Where is Dominic?” I asked.
“Probably in a private room.”
“With Vanessa?”
“Possibly.”
The thought no longer caused the sharp pain it had earlier. It felt distant, almost irrelevant compared with the papers in my hand.
Still, I wondered whether he had left because of embarrassment or because he had recognized something in Richard’s expression.
“Did he see the folder?”
“No.”
“Did he know I was receiving the award?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Then why did you say tonight he would finally learn who I am?”
Richard looked toward the stage.
“Because I knew the award would force you to remember.”
“Remember what?”
“That you were never merely Dominic Vale’s wife.”
The answer was kind, but it did not satisfy me.
I opened the folder again, turning through the documents more carefully. There were pages from 2009, 2011, 2014, and 2018. Several names repeated: attorneys, trustees, accountants, directors.
Then I saw a page dated four years earlier.
The document concerned a change in the trust’s administrative trustee. The previous trustee had retired. A new firm had been appointed.
At the bottom, beneath the signatures of two attorneys, appeared a line that made my breath stop.
Beneficiary acknowledgment received: Evelyn Hart Vale.
The date was three months after my wedding anniversary.
I remembered that day.
Dominic had come home late from a meeting and found me sitting by the windows with a book. He had apologized for missing dinner, then surprised me with a weekend trip to Lake Geneva.
He had given me a slim blue box.
Inside was a diamond pendant.
I had worn it the next morning to a charity luncheon.
“Richard,” I said slowly, “what is this acknowledgment?”
He leaned over the document.
“Confirmation that you were notified of the trustee change.”
“I was not.”
“Your signature is here.”
I looked at it.
The name was mine, but something felt wrong. The handwriting was too clean. The letters were more widely spaced than usual.