Thomas turned as I approached the table, his eyes narrowing as he looked at my hands. “I see you didn’t waste any time getting the band on your finger.”
“It was part of the ceremony, Thomas,” I said, choosing my words with care.
“Just make sure you remember which parts of this estate are corporate and which are personal,” he said, his voice booming slightly before he caught himself. “The foundation isn’t a charity for newcomers.”
Angela stepped in front of me before I could answer. She checked her watch, her sharp eyes scanning my simple navy wool dress, her mouth curling slightly at the corner.
“You’ve moved quickly,” Angela said, her voice clipped and quiet enough to keep the waiter from hearing. “Three months ago you were borrowing bus fare from Violet’s mother. Now you have an estate in Lake Forest.”
I paused, choosing my words with the care of someone walking on thin ice. “Rick asked me to marry him, Angela. I accepted.”
“He is an old man who doesn’t need the distraction,” she said, her fingers tapping her gold watch face. “We have lived in that house our entire lives. We know what belongs there.”
Gary stepped between us, holding a small plate of smoked salmon with a silver fork. “Angela, your brother needs you to review the transport schedule for the foundation’s winter shipment. He is on the phone in the lobby.”
Angela frowned, checking her watch again. “Thomas is always behind on those details. He can’t even manage his own accounts.”
She walked toward the lobby, her high heels clicking sharply against the parquet floor, already pulling her mobile phone from her leather bag.
Through the glass doors of the private dining room, I saw her halt near the coat rack. She dialled a number rapidly, her face turning toward the street.
“The signature on the transfer document,” she said into the phone, her voice carrying through the half-open door. “Is it done? We need it cleared before the Tuesday audit. I don’t care about the authorization code, just get it processed.”
She hung up before the person on the other end could answer, her thumb scrolling through her screen with a frantic, jerky motion.
Gary turned to me, his face grave as he set the plate down. “Do not let them concern you, Layla. The legal parameters are clear. Rick knows exactly what he is doing.”
“They seem very anxious about the foundation,” I said.
“They are always anxious about things they do not control,” Gary said, polishing his glasses once more.
By four o’clock, the afternoon light was fading into a dull, slate gray over Lake Forest, casting long shadows across the gravel driveway.
The brick house was quiet when we returned, the sound of our footsteps on the oak floorboards the only noise. Thomas and Angela had stayed behind in the city, citing corporate business that could not wait, their cars roaring away from the restaurant before we had even finished our tea.
Rick sat in the leather armchair by the fireplace, the blue leather bound ledger resting on the small mahogany table beside him.
“Are you tired?” I asked, setting my small canvas handbag on the desk.
“Only the usual fatigue,” Rick said, though his voice was dry and thin, like paper left in the sun. “It has been a long day for both of us. A marriage is a serious contract, Layla.”
He reached for his glass of water, but as his fingers closed around the crystal, his hand shook. The glass clinked sharply against the mahogany table, spilling a few drops onto the dark wood. He stared at the wet circle on the table for a moment, his face gray.
I stepped forward to help him, but he held up his other hand, adjusting his gold signet ring with a slow, deliberate twist.
“I am glad you are here, Layla,” he said quietly. “The house feels less empty with you in it. We have a great deal of work ahead of us.”
“We have the foundation records to go through tomorrow,” I said, looking at the faded yellow envelope I had placed on the desk.
“Tomorrow is soon enough,” he replied, leaning his head back against the dark leather of the chair. “The columns must match. We cannot afford any errors.”
I looked down at my hand. The gold band on my ring finger was bright and heavy, a brand-new circle that felt cold against my skin.
Angela cleared her throat and passed the heavy silver gravy boat across the linen tablecloth.
“We want you to feel welcome here, Layla,” she said, her smile small and sharp.
Thomas nodded, his large frame shifting in the high-backed dining chair. He poured more red wine into my glass without asking, the bottle neck clinking against the crystal.
“It is a new chapter for all of us,” Thomas said, his booming voice lowered to a polite murmur. “My father deserves some peace, and we are glad you are here to help him find it.”
I looked down at the roast beef on my plate, which remained untouched. Rick sat at the head of the table, his slow, dry cadence cutting through the sudden warmth of his children.
“Layla has already found three billing errors in the monthly maintenance files,” Rick said, adjusting his gold signet ring. “She has a sharp eye.”
Angela checked her watch, her fingers flicking the strap twice before she smoothed her skirt. “We all want what is best for the foundation, of course. That is why we are here tonight. To start fresh.”
“A fresh start,” Thomas repeated, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked at me. “No more misunderstandings.”
I smoothed the fabric of my skirt under the table, choosing my words carefully. “I only want to be useful.”
“You are already useful,” Rick said, his voice quiet. He looked at his son, then at his daughter. “More than they know.”
Angela set her fork down with a small clink against the porcelain. “We have some administrative updates to go over later, Father. Just routine matters.”
“Layla can handle the routine paperwork now,” Rick said. “That was our arrangement.”
Thomas smiled, though his knuckles were white where he gripped his butter knife. “Excellent. That will save us all some time.”
The dinner progressed in a strange, muted rhythm. Angela spoke of her charity circles in Lake Forest, her voice rapid and high-pitched whenever she looked my way, while Thomas agreed with everything his sister said.
It was a sharp contrast to the cold shoulders they had given me at the church only days ago. The change felt deliberate, like a heavy winter coat donned just before stepping into the wind.
“We were all a bit overwhelmed at the reception, Layla,” Angela said, leaning forward to touch the edge of my water glass. “You must understand how sudden it was for us.”
“I understand,” I said.
“But we are family now,” Thomas said, his smile tight. “And family looks out for one another.”
I did not reply. The roast beef grew cold on my plate, the rich gravy congealing into a dull gray skin around the meat.
By eight o’clock, the dining room was empty, and the heavy silence of the estate returned.
I walked down the long hallway toward the library, but Thomas stepped out from the shadow of the staircase, holding a single sheet of cream-colored paper.
“Layla,” he said, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “Do you have a moment?”
“Rick is resting,” I said, stopping near the grandfather clock.
“This is not for him,” Thomas said, gesturing toward the study door. “It is just a routine shipping invoice for the foundation. He told us you would be handling these now.”
He opened the heavy oak door of the study and waited for me to enter. The green banker’s lamp on the desk was already lit, casting long shadows across the leather-bound books.
“What is the invoice for?” I asked, standing by the edge of the desk.
“Office supplies and seasonal transport for the winter shelters,” Thomas said, handing me the paper and a heavy black pen. “A hundred and fifty thousand dollars. We need your signature as the co-trustee to release the funds.”
I looked at the signature line at the bottom, which was blank. “Why does Rick not sign it?”
“He is tired, Layla,” Thomas said, his tone turning slightly sharper before he forced another smile. “You saw him at dinner. There is no need to bother him with every little delivery.”
“I should review the ledger first,” I said, placing my hand over the desk drawer where Rick kept the blue leather-bound book.
Thomas stepped closer, his shadow falling over the paper. “The truck leaves tomorrow morning at dawn. If we do not sign this tonight, the shelter does not get the supplies.”
I looked at the total amount again. One hundred fifty thousand dollars was a massive sum for a single transport invoice.
“Leave it with me,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “I will sign it after I read the details.”
Thomas rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes narrowing slightly. “It is just administrative, Layla. There is no need to make a project out of it.”
“I will bring it to your room when it is done,” I said.
He stared at me for three long seconds before he nodded and backed toward the door. “Do not keep us waiting too long.”
I carried the paper up the carpeted stairs to my bedroom and closed the door, turning the key in the lock. The room was cold, the steam radiator in the corner silent for the night.
I sat at the small writing desk and spread the invoice under the lamp. The letterhead was from a shipping company in Chicago, but the details were sparse.
At the bottom of the page, the authorization date caught my eye. It was dated for the middle of November.
It was only September.
I stared at the post-dated numbers, trying to understand why a routine delivery would be authorized two months in advance. The printed text looked fresh, the ink dark and sharp.
I opened my middle drawer and pulled out the small notebook where I had copied the foundation’s active vendor list. The shipping company on the invoice was not on it.
Someone had drafted this document specifically for my signature tonight.
I stood up, holding the paper by its edge, and walked back down the hallway to Rick’s private study. A thin sliver of yellow light showed beneath his door.
I knocked twice, and his slow voice told me to enter. He was sitting in his leather armchair, a woolen blanket draped over his knees, looking older than he had at dinner.
“You are not asleep,” I said, closing the door behind me.
“I do not sleep much these days,” Rick said. He looked at the paper in my hand. “What did Thomas want?”
I handed him the shipping invoice. “He asked me to sign this. He said it was for the winter shelters.”
Rick took the paper, his gold signet ring glinting under the lamp. He did not put on his reading glasses; he simply stared at the date at the bottom of the page.
“A hundred and fifty thousand,” Rick murmured, his voice dry.
“It is dated for November,” I said. “And the company is not on our active vendor list.”
Rick set the paper on his knee and looked up at me. His eyes were tired, but there was a strange, calm look in them.
“That’s either wisdom or deep sadness,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.