Margaret looked at herself in the mirror. The red handprint had spread toward her jaw.
“Cancel everything bearing my name,” she said.
“Everything?”
“Everything.”
“What about the guests?”
“They are not my responsibility.”
The manager paused again. His voice softened.
“I’ll make sure no one is charged through your accounts. I’ll also preserve the records.”
“Preserve everything.”
“I will.”
Margaret ended the call.
Her hand remained on the folder. The paper beneath it felt heavier than it should have.
She had spent months asking herself why the invoices never seemed to match the promises. Why the florist had sent three separate payment requests. Why the honeymoon suite had been upgraded twice. Why Daniel had started answering questions with irritation instead of reassurance.
She had blamed herself for being suspicious.
Now the suspicion had a shape.
A second name.
A hidden account.
A signature she had not written.
Margaret unlocked the restroom door.
The hallway outside had emptied. The music had not resumed. Beyond the tall double doors, the ballroom waited in a silence so complete that she could hear the heels of her shoes against the marble.
She stepped inside.
Every face turned toward her.
Tiffany stood near the bar, her shoulders rigid. Her father, Roland Price, had moved closer to her. Daniel remained where Margaret had last seen him, one hand hanging at his side and the other clenched around his phone.
Margaret crossed the room without hurrying.
Daniel’s eyes went first to her cheek, then to the folder.
“Mom,” he said.
She stopped several feet away from him.
“Who is Daniel Bennett?”
His expression changed so quickly that a stranger might have missed it. His mouth opened. His eyelids fluttered. Then he looked at Tiffany.
She stared back at him.
