Chapter 4

At eleven forty, Delphine found me in the service corridor and handed me a silver tray.

“You can make yourself useful,” she said. “Pass champagne. Smile. Don’t speak unless someone asks you a direct question.”

“Of course.”

She tilted her head, studying me. I had washed my face and pulled my hair back. The apron covered my black turtleneck. I looked exactly like what she wanted me to be: a woman with no leverage.

“You know,” she said, “it’s generous of Warren to let you come at all. Most men wouldn’t want the family charity case underfoot at an event like this.”

I kept my expression blank. “I’m grateful.”

“You should be.” She adjusted the emerald pendant at her throat. “After the toast, we’ll be done with you. You can slip out the back. No one will notice.”

She walked away.

I picked up the tray. The champagne flutes trembled once, then settled. I had spent six months buying the defaulted mortgage from a lender that had no idea what it held. I had spent two years selling my condo and living in a rented apartment to free up the money. I had spent five years grieving my mother and pretending I didn’t want to burn this house to the ground. Delphine thought I was charity. She had no idea I was the creditor.

At twelve oh five, Mr. Ives arrived. He was a tall man in a charcoal overcoat, carrying a thick leather folder. He paused at the edge of the tent and found me with his eyes. I gave him a small nod.

Delphine noticed him and smiled. “Mr. Ives. You’re early. The documents aren’t needed until after the toast.”

“I thought I’d be prompt,” he said.

She didn’t catch the look he gave me. She was too busy surveying the tent. Grant stood near the champagne table with his fiancée, Cecily, laughing at something one of the donors had said. Warren hovered at the edge of the group, avoiding my direction. The guests were arriving in waves, shaking off umbrellas, exclaiming over the white tent and the late-autumn flowers.

Delphine took a glass from my tray without thanking me.

“After this,” she murmured, “you’re done.”

I smiled at her. “We’ll see.”

Her eyes sharpened, but before she could answer, Cecily called her over. Delphine swept away, confident again. I watched her go, holding the silver tray level. The lawyer stayed near the service entrance, the folder under his arm.

Mrs. Calder appeared beside me. “The trust file is in the office, Ms. Sloane. Mr. Ives has the originals.”

“Thank you.”

“Your mother would have been proud,” she said quietly. “And furious.”

“Both,” I said.

The clock over the tent entrance read twelve fifteen. Delphine raised her glass for the first toast. I picked up a fresh tray of champagne and walked into the lion’s den.