It was a personal authorization letter, signed with my name, giving Grant permission to act as sole trustee.

The signature was a clear digital copy of my handwriting, lifted from our wedding certificate.

Beside it, Diane had placed a forensic handwriting analysis report from the state police lab.

The report was stamped in red ink: *FORGERY DETECTED*.

Grant’s chest heaved under his tailored tuxedo jacket.

The air in the ballroom felt heavy and hot.

I could smell the lilies in the table arrangements, sweet and slightly rotting.

“You have committed bank fraud and grand larceny, Grant,” I said.

“And you did it using the name of the project I designed.”

“The project my mother funded.”

Grant took another step toward me, his eyes dark with anger.

His fingers curved into tight fists at his sides.

He looked like he wanted to grab the microphone from my hand, but he knew the cameras were recording.

“You think you’re smart, Vivian,” he hissed, his voice dropping into a low register.

“But you don’t know the first thing about running a development of this scale.”