Chapter 4: Monday at Ten
Nobody laughed this time.
Celia’s mouth opened and closed. “I’m sorry,” she said. “What?”
“Halcyon Hotel Group owns the Linden House,” Lena said. “Mrs. Whitaker founded Halcyon. She restored this ballroom with her own hands. There’s a photo of her in my office holding a raccoon she personally evicted from that stage.” She turned to Marcus. “Pull the coat check footage. Now. Put it on the screen.”
There was a big screen behind the stage. It was supposed to play a slideshow of Preston and Emily, beach photos and ski trips and the proposal in Central Park. Instead, two minutes later, it showed a black-and-white view of the coat check counter, time-stamped 8:41 p.m.
My tote bag sat on the end of the counter where I’d set it down when I took off my coat.
And Celia Ashford, in champagne satin, walked into the frame, looked over her shoulder once, unclasped her bracelet, and dropped it in.
The whole ballroom saw it. Two hundred people. Investors, Preston had said. Important people.
Celia went white under her makeup. “That’s… that’s not what it looks like. I was holding it for her. I mean, I was…”
“You were framing my mother,” Emily said.
Her voice was very quiet. I’d never heard it like that.
Preston grabbed her hand. “Em. Babe. My mom’s had a lot of champagne. Let’s not do this here.”
Emily pulled her hand back.
Then Preston did something I’ll never forget. He turned to me, and he smiled. A big, warm, open smile, like the last two hours hadn’t happened.
“Mrs. Whitaker,” he said. “Diane. I had no idea. Honestly, this is incredible. Why didn’t you ever say anything? We’d have loved to… I mean, my family’s in real estate. We should really sit down sometime.”
“We’re already sitting down, Preston,” I said. “Monday at ten. Isn’t that right, Celia?”
Celia’s hand went to her throat.
“Ashford Development,” I said. “Forty-million-dollar bridge loan. Your Stamford tower. Your pitch is scheduled with the founder of Halcyon.” I let that sit. “You’re pitching me on Monday, Celia. Don’t bother.”
The man in the bow tie Celia had kissed earlier set his glass down and walked quietly toward the exit. Then a woman in green followed him. Then two more. Nobody likes to stand too close to a sinking ship.
“Please,” Celia said. And her voice cracked on it. “Please. You don’t understand. If that loan doesn’t close, we lose everything. The tower. The house. Diane, we’re going to be family.”
“No,” I said. “I don’t think we are.”
I took out my phone. I didn’t play it for the room. I’m not cruel. I held it out to my daughter.
“I’m sorry, honey,” I said. “You need to hear this. Upstairs on the balcony, about twenty minutes ago.”
Emily took the phone. She put it to her ear. I watched my daughter listen to the man she was going to marry laugh about putting her mother in a nursing home. I watched her hear useful. I watched her hear After the wedding, her mother’s farm goes in our trust.
Preston knew exactly what was on it. You could see it. He went a sick, grayish color.
“Em,” he said. “That was a joke. That was guy talk. Tyler was drunk, I was just—”
Emily handed my phone back to me without looking at him.
Then she turned to me, and it wasn’t relief on her face. It wasn’t gratitude. Her eyes were wet, and her jaw was set, and she looked exactly like Tom did the one time I ever made him truly angry.
“Three billion dollars,” she said. “Forty-one hotels. And you let me think you were a retired farmer.”
“Emily—”
“You let me worry about you. I sent you money, Mom. Two hundred dollars every month for three years, so you could fix the barn roof.”
I had kept every one of those checks. I’d never cashed them. They were in a shoebox in my closet.
“Honey, I can explain—”
“I don’t want an explanation.” Her voice broke. “Preston lied to me for nine weeks. You lied to me my whole life too.”
