“What is he talking about? The townhouse in the city. The accounts for the renovation.”

Mark did not answer her.

He took another step toward Thomas, his fists clenching.

“I want to see the clause,” Mark demanded.

“Show me the exact wording of the covenant.”

Thomas opened the leather folder in his hand.

He turned a heavy cream page, the paper crackling under the microphone’s range.

“Section twelve, paragraph four,” Thomas read.

“Any attempt by a non-lineal spouse to encumber, transfer, or liquidate the principal of the Hartwell Trust without the co-signature of the direct heir results in immediate revocation of all fiduciary privileges.”

“I am the co-signer,” Mark lied.

“I have power of attorney.”

“Your power of attorney was revoked three days ago,” Thomas said.

“When Claire signed the formal petition for audit.”

The whispering among the guests grew louder.

I heard the rustle of programs and the shifting of expensive wool coats.

Patricia turned around, her eyes scanning the crowd.

She was trying to find someone, an ally, anyone who could stop this public dissection.

But the faces looking back at her were cold.