Chapter 3: The Man She Brought to His Own Wedding
Andre stood in the middle of the reception hall, the document still open in his hands.
The guests had stopped pretending.
No one was reaching for champagne.
No one was looking at the cake.
Every eye in the room was on Simone.
She smoothed the front of her dress.
"You're making a scene," she said.
"At our wedding.
In front of everyone we know."
"You forged a power of attorney on my mother." Andre's voice was low and controlled, which made it worse than shouting.
"You went to her house.
You sat at her table.
You let her make you tea, and then you put a document in front of her and told her it was for me."
"I explained what it was."
"You told her it was a mortgage form."
"She misunderstood."
Loretta made a sound.
Not a cry.
Something quieter and more devastating than that.
Andre folded the paper.
"Who is your attorney, Simone?
Because someone drafted this document.
Someone notarized it.
You didn't do this alone."
Simone's chin lifted slightly.
"I don't know what you're implying."
"I'm not implying anything." He set the document on the nearest table.
"I'm asking you directly.
Who helped you do this?"
She turned her head toward the far side of the room.
Andre followed her gaze.
A man stood near the exit — tall, expensive suit, slightly too relaxed for someone at a stranger's wedding.
Andre had noticed him earlier and assumed he was one of Simone's work colleagues.
He had a glass in his hand but hadn't touched it all evening.
"Who is that?" Andre asked.
"A friend," Simone said.
"What's his name?"
"Daniel." She said it without hesitation.
That was the problem.
She said it the way people say a name they have practiced saying casually.
Andre looked at Daniel.
Daniel looked back at him.
He didn't shift his weight.
He didn't look away.
Andre turned back to Simone.
"How long have you known him?"
"We work together."
"That's not what I asked."
Simone set her jaw.
"Don't do this here, Andre."
"You tripped my mother.
On our wedding day.
In front of sixty people.
And you're asking me not to do this here?" His voice rose for just a moment, then pulled back.
"How long have you known Daniel?"
Loretta reached out and touched Andre's arm.
"Baby.
There's more."
He looked at her.
"She didn't just bring the power of attorney document." Loretta opened her bag again and pulled out a second piece of paper — smaller, folded twice.
Her hands were steadier now.
"She left this one on my kitchen counter by mistake.
Or maybe she didn't think I'd understand it."
Andre took it.
It was a bank transfer authorization.
Already dated.
Already signed — with Loretta's signature, or something very close to it.
The destination account had no name.
Only a routing number.
"That's not my signature," Loretta said quietly.
"I've been writing my name the same way for sixty-one years.
That is not my hand."
The room had gone so still that Andre could hear the air conditioning running above the dance floor where no one was dancing.
He looked at Simone.
She was watching him with an expression he had never seen on her face before.
Not panic.
Not guilt.
Something flatter and more careful than either of those.
She was calculating how bad this was.
She was deciding what her next move should be.
That was the moment Andre understood he had never really known her at all.
"Call your attorney," he said.
"Because I'm calling mine tonight."
Simone's eyes moved to Daniel again, just for a second.
It was the smallest look.
A question without words.
Daniel set his untouched glass down on a side table and walked toward the exit.
"Tell him to stop," Andre said.
Simone said nothing.
Daniel pushed the door open and walked out into the evening air and was gone.
Andre looked at his mother.
Loretta looked back at him, and in her eyes he saw something that broke him open quietly and completely: she was not surprised.
She had expected this.
She had been expecting it for longer than tonight.
"How long have you known?" he asked her softly.
May you like
"Long enough," she said.
"I just prayed I was wrong."
