“And depending on how they accessed the money, possibly identity theft.”
My throat tightened.
Naomi opened her laptop.
“Did your sister have access to your wedding account?”
“No.”
“Derek?”
“Some vendors were joint contracts, but the deposit came from my personal savings.”
“Your parents?”
“No.”
She looked at the authorization again.
“Who knew enough about your wedding arrangements to recreate your email and understand which contracts could be transferred?”
I thought about the previous year.
Mom had helped with invitations.
Sophia had attended dress fittings.
Dad had mostly stayed uninvolved.
Derek knew everything.
“Three people.”
Naomi leaned back.
“Then we start there.”
But we didn’t have to look far.
The fake email account had been created using a recovery phone number.
Naomi’s investigator traced it in less than a week.
The number belonged to my mother.
I drove to my parents’ house the next morning.
Mom was pruning roses.
For one second, seeing her in gardening gloves beside the hydrangeas almost made everything feel ridiculous.
This was my mother.
The woman who had packed my lunches.
Sat beside my hospital bed when I had appendicitis.
Helped me move into my first apartment.
Mothers didn’t create fraudulent email addresses to steal twenty-three thousand dollars from their daughters.
Except mine apparently had.
“Did you forge my name?”
Her pruning shears stopped.
That was all.
She didn’t turn around.
She didn’t ask what I meant.
She simply stopped cutting roses.
I felt my heart sink.
“Mom.”
She removed her gloves slowly.
“Come inside.”
“No.”
“Madison.”
“Answer me.”
She looked toward the house.
Then toward the street.
Finally, she whispered, “Lower your voice.”
That sentence told me everything.
I laughed.
“You did.”
“It wasn’t stealing.”
“You forged my signature.”
“We were going to pay you back.”
“When?”
“After the wedding.”
“With what?”
She pressed her lips together.
“I was trying to keep the family together.”
“By stealing from me?”
“The deposits were going to be lost anyway.”
“No. Grand View allowed cancellation with partial refund.”
“Sophia couldn’t afford another venue.”
“That sounds like Sophia’s problem.”
Her expression hardened.
“She is your sister.”
“And I was her sister when she slept with my fiancé.”
“Madison.”
“No. I’m done letting you say my name like I’m a child throwing a tantrum.”
I stepped closer.
“You knew about the affair.”
Her face changed slightly.
“Yes.”
“Dad too?”
Another hesitation.
“You told me Dad knew.”
“He did.”
“Did he?”
“Of course.”
I watched her.
For the first time in my life, I noticed something terrifying about my mother.
She always looked away half a second before she lied.
“Where is Dad?”
“At the bank.”
I turned toward my car.
“What are you doing?”
“Going to ask him.”
She grabbed my arm.
Hard.
Too hard.
“Madison, don’t.”
I looked down at her hand.
Then up at her face.
She released me immediately.
“Why not?”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Because your father has been through enough.”
“What does that mean?”
She shook her head.
“Just leave this alone.”
I drove straight to the bank.
Dad wasn’t there.
He hadn’t worked at the bank in almost seven months.
My father had been senior vice president at Harrington Community Bank for twenty-two years.
At least, that was what I believed.
When I asked the receptionist for him, she looked uncomfortable.
“Mr. Parker retired in February.”
“Retired?”
“Yes.”
Nobody had told me.
