Chapter 4 - THREE MONTHS EARLIER

Three months earlier was when I began sewing the suit.

The timing hurt.

While I measured cuffs and chose lining, Claire was trying to transfer the building where our daughter would marry.

I asked Elena for every email.

One included a letter on trust stationery.

Signed:

HAROLD REED, TRUSTEE.

Not my signature.

Another attached a trustee resolution.

Miriam examined it.

"Forgery."

Then she noticed the witness.

SABRINA REED.

My daughter had signed as witness.

"Maybe she thought it was something else."

Miriam did not comfort me with guesses.

"Ask her."

I did.

Sabrina met me at a coffee shop near Vanderbilt.

She arrived already defensive.

"Mom said you're upset."

"I am."

"About the aisle?"

"About this."

I put the resolution down.

She stared at her signature.

"I signed that."

"You knew?"

"No."

"What did she tell you?"

"That it was permission to use Rosewood for the wedding."

"Did you read it?"

"No."

The family disease was larger than Claire.

People signing things because someone they trusted said it was fine.

"Your mother used your signature to support a forged transfer."

Sabrina went pale.

"Dad, don't say forged."

"What word do you prefer?"

"Maybe she misunderstood."

"She didn't."

Sabrina read until her hands started shaking.

Then she pushed the papers back.

"I can't deal with this before the wedding."

That sentence hurt more than I expected.

"Your mother is trying to mortgage my home."

"Our home."

"No."

I kept my voice calm.

"The trust owns it."

"What trust?"

I had never told her the full structure.

Not because I wanted power.

Because my father taught me never to make a child feel loved because of what she might inherit.

"The house, shop, and Rosewood belong to a trust."

"Who gets it?"

"That depends."

Her face changed in a way I did not like.

"Depends on what?"

"Why is that your first question?"

Then her phone lit.

Michael.

She silenced it.

Too quickly.

"How long have you actually been talking to him?"

Sabrina's eyes filled.

"Eight months."

Not six weeks.

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Eight months.

"Mom told me not to tell you."