Chapter 8 - The Husband Who Found Him
"Nathan knew you were alive?"
My father nodded.
"About eight months ago."
I gripped the edge of the workbench.
"Did he tell you who he was?"
"Yes. He introduced himself as your husband."
"What did he want?"
"Records from the old Crownline accounts. He said he was reviewing the company's history before a possible transaction."
"Did you give them to him?"
"Some copies."
"Why?"
"He claimed your mother had wanted the discrepancies resolved before the business changed hands."
I looked at him in disbelief.
"You trusted him?"
My father accepted the question without defending himself.
"I wanted to know about you. Nathan brought photographs. He told me you were happy, and that reopening the past would hurt you."
I stared at the floor.
Nathan had known my father was alive while I was crying over my mother's medical bills.
He'd known while I visited the cemetery.
He'd known while I told him how much I wished Dad could have attended our wedding.
"What else did you tell him?"
"That Charles had been sending payments here. That some old invoices were questionable. Nothing about the current voting agreement."
"Did you know he was trying to sell the workshop?"
"No."
I showed him the acquisition summary.
He read it slowly.
Then he shook his head.
"Your mother would have fought this."
"She did. Until she died."
I gathered copies of the documents, photographing each page before returning the originals.
My father watched me.
"Can I come to New York?"
The question surprised me.
"Why?"
"To tell the truth. About the invoices. About Nathan finding me. Whatever your attorney needs."
"You understand that telling the truth may mean admitting what you did?"
"Yes."
"And you understand I might never forgive you?"
He looked directly at me.
"I do."
For the first time since entering the shop, I believed him.
Not because his explanation justified anything.
It didn't.
But because he was finally answering questions without telling me how I should feel.
I called Maya from the parking lot.
After hearing the basics, she said, "Bring him back. But I need to speak with him before he makes any statements."
"Will his records help?"
"Potentially. They may explain the history and some conflicts of interest. But our immediate priority is still the forged proxy."
I understood.
My father's return couldn't magically erase Nathan's signature fraud.
We needed evidence connected to the actual document.
As we prepared to leave, my father handed me a small wooden box.
"I kept this."
Inside was a little silver star.
One corner was bent.
My breath caught.
It was the star I'd made for his funeral.
The star I'd placed on top of his coffin.
"How did you get that?"
"Your mother mailed it to me with the letter I mentioned."
I looked up sharply.
"She mailed it?"
"Years later. There was no return address, but I knew her handwriting."
He swallowed.
"She told me you'd left it on the coffin."
I closed the box.
Mom had known where to reach him.
At least once.
The realization hurt, but I didn't have room to process it yet.
I put the box in my bag.
"Come to New York," I said.
"But don't mistake that for me inviting you back into my life."
He nodded.
"I won't."
We drove south in two cars.
My father followed Ana and me.
Halfway through Connecticut, Maya called.
"Emma, we located Nora Price."
"And?"
"She says she notarized the proxy."
My stomach tightened.
"Then she's lying."
"She claims somebody brought the document to her with a copy of your identification."
"Somebody?"
"Celeste Rowan."
I watched the highway unfold ahead of me.
May you like
And suddenly Nathan's mistress was no longer just the woman who had watched him hit me.
She was connected directly to the document that could destroy my inheritance.
