Chapter 7 - What the Bride Bought

It would have been easier if Sloane had simply wanted an expensive wedding. The ledger Ira sent us showed something uglier. Atlantic Harbor Relocation had received a previous transfer from a company that supplied our emergency projects. The amount was $18,600. The memo said EQUIPMENT REPAIR, but no equipment number was listed.

"That payment came through last month," Nia said. "I remember questioning it. Procurement sent me a corrected invoice."

"Who sent the correction?"

Nia looked at her screen. "Someone using your account."

I closed my eyes. Mom had borrowed my tablet at Thanksgiving, then returned it with the screen wiped clean. I had assumed she was being careful with the glass. Sloane had spent ten minutes teasing me about keeping two-factor authentication on everything.

We contacted our IT provider to preserve logs and revoke every old device token. Ira warned me not to decide the account had been hacked until he had examined the records. Someone could have borrowed my unlocked tablet, found a saved session, or used a password reset. Each path left different evidence.

At two o'clock Sloane called. I answered with Nia beside me.

"Merry! How's the knee?" she sang. "Mom says you're making everybody miserable."

"You shoved me."

"Oh, my God. You're still on that?"

"I have video."

Her breathing changed. "What video?"

"A recording of your hands against my back, followed by my fall."

"You can't just film people in a private house."

"You just told me you didn't push me."

"I told you it was a joke!"

There it was. The closest thing to an admission she'd ever give freely. She recovered quickly and said I'd always resented her being loved. I asked about Atlantic Harbor Relocation. For the first time in our lives, she had no immediate insult ready.

"Dad needed help," she said at last. "You could have given it to him."

"You asked me for help with your florist last month. I said no because you wanted twelve thousand dollars for imported flowers."

"And you made me beg in front of Theo."

"Who is paying for the wedding, Sloane?"

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"Don't start digging. You don't know what you'll ruin."

She ended the call. A moment later a photograph arrived from her number: Theo Bennett, her fiancé, smiling beside our father on a sailboat. Under it, a message read: HE THINKS YOU TRIED TO DESTROY US. AND HE'S ABOUT TO TELL EVERYONE WHY.