Chapter 4 - THE FAMILY DINNER VANESSA ASKED FOR
My mother insisted on dinner Friday.
I almost refused.
Then Daniel said:
“Go.”
I looked at him.
“Why?”
“Because Trevor wants something.”
“You want to see how he asks?”
“I want to see what he thinks he knows.”
So we went.
Same dining room where Vanessa had called Daniel my clearance-rack husband.
Different atmosphere.
My mother opened the door herself.
She hugged Daniel for the first time in the entire eighteen months she had known him.
Too long.
Too warmly.
He looked at me over her shoulder.
I nearly laughed.
Trevor was already pouring wine.
Vanessa avoided my eyes.
At dinner, nobody mentioned money for seventeen minutes.
I timed it.
Then Trevor cleared his throat.
“Daniel, I owe you an apology.”
Daniel continued cutting his chicken.
“For?”
“The wedding comments.”
“I don’t remember you saying much.”
That was worse.
Trevor smiled awkwardly.
“Still.”
My mother jumped in.
“We were all just teasing.”
I looked at her.
“You laughed for almost a full minute.”
She ignored me.
Trevor continued.
“I hope none of that affects business.”
Daniel set down his fork.
“There it is.”
My mother froze.
Trevor tried to laugh.
“I just mean business should stay business.”
“I agree.”
“Great.”
“So Hartwell’s loan will be evaluated exactly like every other loan.”
Trevor’s smile weakened.
“Of course.”
Daniel took a sip of water.
“Which may be a problem.”
The room went silent.
Trevor’s wife—my sister—closed her eyes.
“What problem?” my mother asked.
Daniel looked at Trevor.
“Do you want to tell them?”
Trevor’s face tightened.
“There’s nothing to tell.”
“Then I will.”
I had never seen Daniel behave like this.
Not aggressive.
Not cruel.
Simply impossible to move.
“Hartwell’s project is twenty-seven percent over budget,” he said. “Two commercial tenants have withdrawn, the occupancy model uses unsigned letters of intent, and one contractor lien wasn’t disclosed in the extension package.”
My mother stared at Trevor.
“Is that true?”
“It’s complicated.”
Daniel nodded.
“That usually means yes.”
Trevor’s voice hardened.
“Preston said the numbers were manageable.”
There it was.
Daniel leaned back.
“When did you start speaking to my uncle?”
Trevor realized too late that he had walked into the question.
“Recently.”
“How recently?”
“A few months.”
Vanessa snapped:
“You told me six weeks.”
Trevor glared at her.
Daniel noticed.
“So six weeks.”
Trevor pushed back from the table.
“Look, I don’t know your family politics.”
“Yet you accepted help from my uncle.”
“He introduced us to people.”
“Who?”
Silence.
“Trevor.”
“A credit consultant.”
“Name.”
“Elaine Porter.”
Daniel stopped.
It was the first genuine reaction I had seen.
I noticed immediately.
“You know her?”
He looked at me.
“Yes.”
“Who is she?”
“My late wife’s sister.”
The room changed.
Sarah’s sister.
No one spoke.
Daniel continued.
“Elaine Porter hasn’t spoken to me since Sarah died.”
Trevor looked confused.
“She’s been consulting with Hartwell for almost a year.”
My skin prickled.
“On financing?”
“Yes.”
Daniel asked:
“Did Preston introduce her?”
Trevor nodded.
Daniel’s face went cold.
My mother, still several steps behind the conversation, said:
“I don’t understand.”
Neither did I.
Not yet.
Then Trevor added:
“Elaine said Daniel would never reject the extension once Emily was involved.”
I stared at him.
“Why?”
He looked at me.
“Because she said Daniel can’t afford another scandal involving his wife.”
Silence.
Daniel’s hand tightened around his glass.
I turned toward him.
“What scandal?”
His face had gone pale.
Trevor realized he had said something he wasn’t supposed to know.
Daniel stood.
“We’re leaving.”
“Daniel.”
“Now, Emily.”
I had never heard that tone from him.
Not controlling.
Afraid.
In the car, he drove three blocks before pulling into an empty church parking lot.
Then he turned off the engine.
“What scandal?”
He stared through the windshield.
Finally:
“Sarah wasn’t only killed in a car accident.”
My stomach tightened.
“What do you mean?”
“Three days before she died, she accused someone inside Mercer Holdings of stealing from Noah’s trust.”
I stopped breathing.
“Who?”
May you like
Daniel looked at me.
“My uncle Preston.”
