Chapter 3: A Son’s Confession
My son’s name was Daniel, but at that moment he looked like a frightened boy hiding beside a broken window.
“Answer me,” I said.
“What did you do?”
Daniel loosened his tie.
“I gave Tiffany a copy of your signature.”
My knees nearly buckled.
“You gave her what?”
“It was from the catering approval you signed.
She said the calligrapher needed it for a surprise tribute.”
Tiffany stepped between us.
“Don’t make it sound sinister.
We wanted Margaret’s name printed beneath a thank-you message.”
“Then why is it on an $18,700 authorization?” I asked.
“I don’t know.”
The manager tapped the paper.
“It was submitted from your email address, Mrs.
Bennett.”
“That is impossible.”
Tiffany lifted her chin.
“Maybe you approved it and forgot.
You’ve signed dozens of documents.”
“I remember every dollar you demanded.”
Her father, Richard, pointed toward the doors.
“This spectacle has gone far enough.
Restart the reception.”
“No,” I said.
“You’re humiliating your son.”
“No, Richard.
Your daughter did that when she raised her hand.”
Daniel reached for me.
I stepped back.
“Mom, Tiffany showed me the authorization yesterday.”
“And you said nothing?”
“She told me you had changed your mind.”
“You knew she had my signature.”
“I thought you’d agreed.”
“You didn’t ask me because you were afraid of my answer.”
Daniel’s hand fell to his side.
Tiffany grabbed the document.
“This proves nothing.
Margaret made promises, and now she’s pretending she didn’t.”
The manager took the page back.
“It remains venue property.”
“Give it to me!”
Two security officers moved closer.
Tiffany stopped.
A woman in a pale blue dress approached me.
It was Tiffany’s mother, Elaine.
She carried a napkin wrapped around ice.
“Put this against your cheek,” she said.
Richard stared at her.
“Stay out of this.”
Elaine placed the ice in my hand.
“I stayed out of too much already.”
Tiffany’s eyes narrowed.
“Mother, don’t.”
“Why?” I asked.
“What does she know?”
Elaine looked at the false signature, then at her daughter.
“Three weeks ago, I found Tiffany in Richard’s office with one of your folders.”
“That was wedding paperwork,” Tiffany snapped.
“No.
It was the folder from the land sale.”
The ballroom seemed to shrink around us.
“What land sale?” Daniel asked.
“The parcel your mother sold,” Elaine said.
“Richard arranged it.”
I looked at him.
“You told me the buyer came through another broker.”
“He did.”
Elaine shook her head.
“Tell her who owns Bellweather Holdings.”
Richard seized her wrist.
“You’re confused.”
“Let her go,” I said.
Elaine pulled free and stood beside me.
May you like
“Tiffany copied more than Margaret’s signature,” she said.
“And the wedding bill wasn’t the first place they used it.”
