My husband had beean sleeping around for a year while I built our company — and the proof was hiding under his passenger seat.

My father called back in forty minutes.

"Marjorie Kessler," he said. "Senior partner at Kessler and Vance. She handled the Whitfield case — you remember, the contractor who was double-billing the county for two years. She'll see you at eight tomorrow."

"How did you reach her at this hour?"

"I called her husband. We were in the same Rotary club for fifteen years." A pause. "Diane. Are you safe?"

"I'm in the driveway."

"Go to a hotel."

"I need a few things out of the house first."

"Then I'm coming."

"Papa—"

"I'm already backing out."

I didn't argue. I sat and waited. Grant's study window stayed dark.

Forty minutes later my father's truck pulled in behind me. He's seventy-one and he climbed out like a man of fifty. He didn't say anything at my window. He looked at me. I looked at him. Then I got out of the car and we went in together.

Grant was at the kitchen island with a glass of scotch and his phone face-up on the marble. He looked up when we walked in. When he saw my father, something moved in his face and then went flat again.

"Rafael," he said carefully. "I didn't know you were coming by."

"I didn't know I'd have to," my father said.

Grant turned to me. "Diane, I think you and I should talk in private."

"Anything you want to say to me, you can say in front of my father."

He set the glass down. "I spoke with my attorney this evening. There are some misunderstandings about the company structure that I want to clear up for you. The documents Derek showed you were pulled completely out of context—"

"Grant." I set the envelope on the island between us. "I've read the email to Denver."

He looked at the envelope. He didn't touch it.

"The transfer with my forged signature," I said. "The holding company in your mother's name. The dissolution timeline. I've seen every page."

He was quiet a second. Then he picked the glass back up.

"You want to be very careful with a word like forged, Diane. That's a serious accusation."

"It's a serious document."

"You're under enormous stress. We both are. If you'd just sit down with my attorney and let him take you through the—"

"I have my own attorney," I said. "Marjorie Kessler. We meet at eight."

The glass stopped halfway to his mouth.

My father was watching Grant the way he used to watch subcontractors who padded their invoices. Completely still. Completely patient.

"Marjorie Kessler," Grant repeated.

"Yes."

He set the glass down. "That's an aggressive move, Diane. That is not who you hire to untangle a misunderstanding."

"No," I said. "It isn't."

Footsteps on the stairs. We all turned.

Lucille came down in her robe, silver hair loose around her shoulders, her face already arranged into the expression she'd spent three years perfecting — the concerned older woman, blameless, faintly wounded that anyone would raise their voice in her son's house.

"I heard voices," she said. "Rafael. I didn't realize you were visiting."

My father looked at her for a long moment. "Lucille," he said. Just the name.

She turned to Grant. A fast little look. The kind that passes between two people who have already had this conversation somewhere else. I saw it. My father saw it.

"Lucille," I said. "How long have you been a director of Kestrel Property Holdings?"

Her face didn't move. "I have a few small investments. I don't see how that concerns you."

"Four hundred and twelve thousand dollars moved out of our company account and into Kestrel in eleven months. I'd say it concerns me quite a lot."

"Diane." Grant's voice had an edge now. "This is not the time or the place."

"Then when?" I said. "You've had eighteen months. When exactly was the time?"

Lucille pulled her robe tighter. "Grant, call Gerald tonight. This has gone far enough."

Gerald. The attorney. Grant reached for his phone.

My father stepped forward — not fast, just one step — and said, very quietly, "Grantham. Look at me."

Nobody had called him Grantham in years. He looked up.

"I helped build that company," my father said. "Every dollar I had saved. I did it for my daughter. Not for you, and not for your mother. For Diane." He paused. "Whatever you're about to do next, be sure."