Chapter 2 - The Email They Never Meant Me to SeeI didn’t call from the ballroom.
I walked through the hotel lobby, past the marble columns and the pianist playing near the fireplace, until I reached the small business center beside the elevators.
Maya followed.
The moment the door closed, she said, “Please tell me you’re not paying that.”
“I’m not.”
“Thank God.”
“I’m going to let them think I am.”
That stopped her.
Maya had known me since sophomore year at Northwestern. She had watched me launch Claire & Co. from a six-hundred-square-foot storefront with borrowed clothing racks and a cash register purchased from a restaurant that had gone bankrupt.
She knew the difference between Claire who was frightened and Claire who was thinking.
“You have that face,” she said.
“What face?”
“The one you had before you sued your old landlord.”
“He forged my signature.”
“Exactly.”
I called my attorney.
Samuel Price answered on the second ring.
“Claire?”
“Are you busy?”
“I’m reviewing contracts.”
“I need you to review an attempted financial ambush.”
There was a pause.
“That sounds more interesting.”
I explained everything.
The unauthorized guests.
The upgraded menu.
The alcohol.
The invoice.
Then I forwarded the email chain.
Samuel went silent for nearly a minute.
“Claire.”
“Yes?”
“Do not pay anything.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“Did you sign an authorization allowing Victoria Harrington to make changes?”
“No.”
“Did Andrew?”
“Not with my authority.”
“Who signed the hotel amendments?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Find out.”
Maya leaned closer to my phone.
Samuel continued.
“And do not confront them about the email yet.”
“Why?”
“Because people become extremely educational when they believe their scheme is succeeding.”
That was why Samuel was worth every dollar I paid him.
“What should I do?”
“Ask the hotel for copies of every authorization. Quietly. Then call me back.”
I ended the call.
Maya stared at me.
“I love your lawyer.”
“He’s married.”
“I mean professionally.”
We returned to the ballroom.
Nothing had changed.
Guests laughed.
Glasses clinked.
A saxophonist had joined the jazz band.
My money was being spent at approximately the speed of a small house fire.
Andrew intercepted me near the dance floor.
“All good?”
“Almost.”
His eyes narrowed.
“What does that mean?”
“My accountant wants documentation.”
Victoria appeared instantly.
It was almost impressive how quickly she moved whenever money was mentioned.
“What documentation?”
“Approvals. Who ordered what.”
Her smile tightened.
“Why does that matter?”
“For bookkeeping.”
Andrew put his arm around me.
“You don’t need to turn our engagement party into an audit.”
“Forty thousand dollars is enough to audit.”
His jaw flexed.
Then Victoria laughed.
“Of course. If it makes Claire comfortable.”
She called the banquet director over.
“Marcus, would you please give Claire whatever paperwork she wants?”
Marcus looked at me.
“I can have copies prepared.”
“Thank you.”
Victoria turned back toward the guests.
Problem solved.
At least she believed so.
Twenty minutes later, Marcus discreetly handed Maya an envelope.
We opened it inside the women’s restroom.
The first banquet modification was dated eleven days earlier.
Additional guests.
Approved by:
Andrew Harrington.
The second was seafood service.
Approved by Andrew.
Premium alcohol.
Andrew.
Floral expansion.
Victoria.
Transportation.
Victoria.
Then I reached the final page.
It was an amended financial authorization stating that all charges would be transferred to my personal event account.
At the bottom was my name.
Claire Delaney.
And beneath it—
a signature.
My signature.
Except I had never signed it.
Maya stopped breathing.
“Oh my God.”
I looked at the page.
Whoever forged it had done a decent job.
The C curved correctly.
The final Y had the upward hook I used.
But the middle letters were too neat.
“I didn’t sign this.”
“I know.”
“Take pictures.”
Maya photographed every page.
I sent everything to Samuel.
His reply came less than thirty seconds later.
Do not confront. I’m coming to the hotel.
My stomach flipped.
Samuel did not come to places unless something serious was happening.
We returned to the ballroom just as Victoria took the microphone.
“I’d like everyone’s attention!”
The music stopped.
People turned.
Victoria beamed.
“As many of you know, Andrew has finally found the woman who will become the newest Mrs. Harrington.”
Applause.
I stood beside Andrew.
He squeezed my waist.
Victoria continued.
“Claire is a remarkable entrepreneur. She built a wonderful little retail business entirely on her own.”
Little.
Seven locations.
Eighty-three employees.
Nearly nine million dollars in annual revenue.
But sure.
Little.
“And I think marriage will give her something every ambitious woman eventually realizes she needs.”
Victoria looked directly at me.
“Family priorities.”
Some women laughed.
Andrew smiled.
My skin prickled.
Victoria raised her glass.
“To Claire learning that life isn’t only about businesses and bank accounts.”
Everyone drank.
I didn’t.
After the toast, an older woman approached me.
“Victoria tells us you’re funding Andrew’s new investment venture.”
I blinked.
“I am?”
She laughed.
“Oh, don’t be modest. Six hundred thousand is very generous.”
My heart stopped.
“Who told you that?”
“Victoria.”
Before I could respond, another relative joined us.
“Is that the real estate fund?”
“Yes,” the woman said.
“Andrew said Claire is putting in the seed capital.”
I looked across the ballroom.
Andrew was talking to two men beside the bar.
Something inside me shifted.
The engagement party wasn’t merely a test.
They had already told people my money was theirs.
I walked toward him.
He saw me coming.
“Everything okay?”
“Did you tell your family I agreed to invest six hundred thousand dollars?”
His expression barely changed.
“I said we were discussing it.”
“They think it’s done.”
“You’ll probably do it eventually.”
“Why would you say that?”
“Because it makes sense.”
“To whom?”
“To us.”
“There is no ‘us’ in an investment I haven’t approved.”
Andrew exhaled.
“Claire, can we not do this tonight?”
“What exactly are we doing tonight, Andrew?”
He glanced around.
“Lower your voice.”
There it was again.
Their most reliable weapon.
Don’t embarrass us.
Don’t cause a scene.
People are watching.
For nearly a year, I had mistaken Andrew’s dislike of conflict for sophistication.
Now I saw it differently.
He didn’t dislike conflict.
He disliked resistance.
He touched my elbow.
“My parents have relationships you don’t understand.”
“I understand numbers.”
“Then understand this. Their development project is going to make a fortune.”
“With my money.”
“With our money.”
“We aren’t married.”
“We will be.”
I pulled my arm away.
His eyes hardened.
For a moment, the charming man disappeared.
“You know,” he said quietly, “Mom was right about one thing.”
“What?”
“You’re incredibly possessive about money.”
I almost laughed.
“You forged my signature.”
His face went blank.
Only for a second.
But I saw it.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The hotel authorization.”
His complexion changed.
He recovered quickly.
“Mom probably signed something.”
“With my name?”
“I’m sure it’s a misunderstanding.”
“Interesting.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I’m interested in seeing how far the misunderstanding goes.”
I walked away.
Behind me, he called my name.
I didn’t turn around.
Samuel arrived at 9:12 p.m.
He entered through the ballroom doors carrying a black leather briefcase.
And he wasn’t alone.
Beside him was a woman I recognized immediately.
Elena Rodriguez.
My forensic accountant.
Maya looked at me.
“Why did he bring Elena?”
I had the same question.
Samuel reached us.
“We need somewhere private.”
“What happened?”
He looked across the ballroom at Andrew.
Then back at me.
“I ran the Harrington development company through our database.”
My pulse quickened.
“And?”
Samuel lowered his voice.
“They aren’t looking for six hundred thousand dollars because they found a great investment.”
May you like
He opened his briefcase.
“They need it because they’re almost broke.”
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