I jumped to my feet so abruptly that the chair shrieked across the floor.
“No. That’s not—”
“She didn’t confront them,” Robert cut in. “She prepared. She quietly revised her will. Legally. Everything was left to us.”
I stared at him. “So Dad gets nothing. Laura gets nothing.”
A brittle laugh escaped me—sharp, unsteady.
“So this wedding, all of it—”
“They believe they’ve already won,” Robert said.
The door swung open.
“Claire?” my father called. “Are you all right in there?”
Robert folded the letter and slipped it back into the envelope.
“Yes,” I answered. “We’ll be out in a moment.”
The door shut again.
I swallowed. “What do we do?”
Outside, the music swelled.
The cake was about to be cut.
And my father had no idea his celebration was on the verge of becoming a reckoning.
We returned to the reception together. Dad spotted us immediately and smiled in relief.
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