Sophia’s account showed similar withdrawals.

But there was something strange.

Sophia’s withdrawals clustered heavily around the year she entered Serenity Hills.

Naomi circled several transactions.

“Look at these dates.”

I did.

Three payments had been made during Sophia’s treatment.

$25,000.

$18,500.

$43,000.

“Those were her gambling debts,” I said.

“Maybe.”

Naomi pointed at the destination accounts.

“Except none of these went to casinos, lenders, treatment facilities, or your father.”

“Then where?”

She rotated the laptop toward me.

A corporation.

Belle Maison Consulting LLC.

I had never heard of it.

Naomi had.

Not personally.

But her investigator had uncovered the owner.

Patricia Parker.

My mother.

Belle Maison.

Beautiful house.

My mother had created a company named after the thing she had nearly destroyed.

And more than $300,000 from our trust had passed through it.

Then Naomi found the payments going out.

Hotels.

Flights.

Jewelry.

Luxury department stores.

Restaurants.

And repeated transfers to one person.

Alexander Vale.

I didn’t recognize the name.

Dad did.

When I called him, there was a long silence.

Then he whispered:

“He was your mother’s first fiancé.”

Apparently, before Dad, there had been Alex.

My mother had been twenty-two.

Alex was older.

Charming.

Restless.

They were engaged briefly.

Then he vanished.

At least that was the family story.

He had moved overseas and Mom eventually married Dad.

But six years ago, Alex had returned.

Mom found him online.

Messages became phone calls.

Phone calls became lunches.

Lunches became hotel rooms.

And money.

A lot of money.

Dad had discovered the affair seven months earlier.

That was why he left the bank.

Not because he had been fired.

Because he couldn’t continue walking into an office while pretending his entire marriage hadn’t collapsed.

“Why are you still living with her?” I asked.

“I’m not.”

He had rented a small apartment two towns away.

Mom had told Sophia and me that Dad was traveling for consulting projects.

Every part of our family had become a stage set.

Walls painted over rot.

“What does this have to do with Sophia’s wedding?” I asked Naomi.

“That’s what bothers me.”

Mom’s affair explained the missing trust money.

It did not explain why she desperately needed Sophia to marry Derek.

Then, three weeks before the wedding, we found the answer.

And it came from the person I least expected.

Sophia.

She showed up at my apartment at midnight.

Mascara streaked down her face.

Barefoot.

Still wearing pajama pants.

“Can I come in?”

I almost said no.

Then I saw how badly she was shaking.

I stepped aside.

She sat on my couch.

For nearly a minute, she couldn’t speak.

Finally, she looked at me.

“Derek knows.”

“Knows what?”

“Serenity Hills.”

My heart jumped.

“How?”

“Mom told him.”

I stared at her.

“Why would Mom tell him?”

Sophia laughed bitterly.

“Because he found something worse.”

She reached into her purse and handed me a folded statement.

It was from a private investment account.

Derek’s name was listed.

So was Mom’s company.

Belle Maison Consulting.

Naomi and I had missed it because we’d been looking at outgoing payments.

Not money coming back.

Over the previous eighteen months, Derek had transferred $146,000 into Belle Maison.

“What is this?”

Sophia covered her mouth.

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do.”

She began crying.

“Derek doesn’t have money, Madison.”

I almost laughed.

His parents had a mansion in Connecticut.