Chapter 6 - THE BRIDE’S REAL INHERITANCE
Emily stared at our mother.
“What did you say?”
Linda stood quickly.
“Sweetheart—”
“Did you say Claire paid for my wedding?”
“No.”
Emily looked between us.
“You just said the wedding.”
My mother’s panic deepened.
“It isn’t that simple.”
I almost smiled.
That sentence had apparently become our family motto.
Emily turned toward me.
For the first time since she had asked me to hide in the back of the church, she didn’t look angry.
She looked frightened.
“I didn’t know.”
I believed her.
That didn’t erase what she had done.
But I believed her.
“How much?”
Emily asked.
Linda shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
Daniel entered behind Emily.
“Yes, you do.”
Emily looked at him.
He held a folder.
“My family’s financial office reviewed the wedding transfers because several payments came from an account associated with Whitmore Coastal.”
My mother sat down.
Daniel opened the folder.
“The church deposit.”
He looked at Emily.
“The flowers.”
Another page.
“The photographer.”
Another.
“The reception.”
Emily whispered,
“Stop.”
Daniel didn’t.
“Your dress.”
Emily closed her eyes.
“And the honeymoon villa.”
I looked at Linda.
“All from the settlement?”
“Not directly.”
Margaret gave a bitter laugh.
“There it is.”
Linda turned toward her.
“What?”
“The technical defense.”
Margaret looked at me.
“The original money was apparently invested into Mark’s company.”
She pointed toward Daniel’s records.
“The wedding was paid from company accounts.”
Emily opened her eyes.
“So Dad can say he didn’t spend Claire’s money on me.”
Margaret nodded.
“Even if Claire’s money built the company that paid for everything.”
Emily looked sick.
Then she looked down at her wedding gown.
The same dress she had spent eleven months choosing.
The same dress she had once told me cost more than my first accessible van.
She reached for the zipper at her back.
Daniel frowned.
“What are you doing?”
“I don’t want it.”
Linda rushed toward her.
“Emily.”
“I said I don’t want it.”
She tore at the row of pearl buttons.
“It was hers.”
I watched my sister panic over a dress while twelve years of my life rearranged themselves.
“Emily.”
She stopped.
“I don’t want the dress.”
“I don’t care about the dress.”
She stared at me.
“What do you care about?”
I looked at her.
“The truth.”
Her face broke.
“I told you I didn’t know about the money.”
“I believe you.”
Relief flashed across her face.
Then I continued.
“But you knew I saved you.”
The relief vanished.
“You knew I wasn’t violent.”
She looked away.
“You knew I lived fifteen minutes from you.”
Silence.
“And this morning, you asked me to hide.”
Emily lowered her head.
“I’m sorry.”
I looked at her beautiful white gown.
At the carefully curled hair.
At the sister I once carried through fire.
“Not yet.”
Her eyes lifted.
“I’m not ready to accept that yet.”
Behind us, my father’s voice filled the doorway.
“You won’t have to.”
Mark Whitmore walked inside.
Then he looked directly at me.
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“Because none of you are seeing another document.”
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