“No,” I said. “That’s why I learned to document everything.”
Courtney slapped the paper down.
“This is fake.”
Charles finally spoke again.
“It is not. Our legal counsel verified the submission trail.”
Courtney turned on him.
“You’re just saying that because she signs your paycheck now.”
Charles’s smile cooled.
“Ms. Courtney, I have worked at Briar Glen for twenty-two years. I survived three board presidents, two embezzlement scandals, a hurricane, and one Christmas brunch where a senator’s wife threw cranberry sauce at a judge. I assure you, I do not need Ms. Anderson’s paycheck to identify a forged document.”
Someone in the dining room made a strangled laughing sound.
Courtney looked ready to shatter a glass.
Then a deep voice came from behind her.
“Patricia.”
My mother closed her eyes.
Just briefly.
Thomas Vail had entered the dining room.
He was tall, silver-haired, broad-shouldered, and dressed in a dark suit that looked expensive without trying. He walked with the deliberate calm of someone who had spent decades making men with louder voices wait their turn.
Courtney’s face softened instantly.