Chapter 6
“Victor,” she said breathlessly. “No, darling, just family excitement. My brother surprised us.”
Victor Hales.
The fiancé.
His gaze moved over me, then Sarah, then Jamie, then the filthy bedding against the wall.
His expression shifted.
Not shock.
Recognition.
He knew.
I saw it at once.
He knew something.
Mother hurried toward him. “Please go back inside. We’ll join you shortly.”
Victor did not move.
Instead, he looked directly at me.
“You must be Daniel.”
“I am.”
He set his champagne glass on a shelf.
“I wondered when you would return.”
Prudence’s face went pale.
Mother said sharply, “Victor.”
He ignored her.
I narrowed my eyes. “You wondered?”
Victor reached into his inner jacket pocket and removed a folded envelope.
Prudence whispered, “Don’t.”
He looked at her with quiet disgust.
“For six months,” he said, “your mother has been trying to convince me to invest in this property before my marriage to Prudence. She claimed your overseas remittances were gifts to her. She claimed your wife had left. She claimed the child was being cared for elsewhere.”
Mother’s face twisted. “This is not the place.”
Victor unfolded the envelope.
“I had my attorney look into the title.”
My heartbeat slowed.
“What did he find?”
Victor looked at Mother.
Then at me.
“The house is not in your mother’s name.”
Mother’s lips parted.
Prudence gripped the counter.
Victor continued. “Not legally. There were attempts to transfer ownership using a power of attorney, but the documents were irregular. Your signature on the final transfer was forged.”
The word struck the room like thunder.
Forged.
Mother snapped, “That is a lie.”
Victor reached into the envelope and pulled out copies.
“Your notary is dead. The stamp used was expired. The witness listed was out of the country on the date written.”
I looked at Mother.
She did not deny it this time.
Her eyes were racing, hunting for exits.
Victor’s voice lowered. “And there is more.”
Prudence shook her head violently. “Victor, please.”
He looked at her.
“You told me you cared for your nephew.”
She said nothing.
“You told me Sarah was ill.”
Still nothing.
He stepped aside, allowing the guests behind him to see fully into the back kitchen.
The music had stopped.
People gathered in the doorway now, no longer laughing. Silk dresses. tailored suits. diamonds at throats. All of them staring at the torn dress, the thin child, the stained walls, the hidden bedding.
Mother seemed to shrink and swell at the same time.
“Everyone get out,” she ordered. “This is private family business.”
Nobody moved.
Then an older woman from the crowd whispered, “Is that Daniel’s wife?”
Another voice said, “I thought she was abroad.”
Someone else murmured, “That poor child.”
Mother’s face cracked.
Not from guilt.
From exposure.
I picked up my fallen phone from beneath the counter. The screen was cracked but still working.
This time, nobody stopped me.
I called the police.
While we waited, Victor gave me the envelope.
Inside were copies of property documents, bank transfer trails, and photographs. My hands tightened as I saw them.
Mother and Prudence posing at charity galas.
Mother cutting a ribbon at a women’s shelter fundraiser.
Prudence in designer gowns.
Receipts for imported furniture.
Payments to caterers.
Jewelry purchases.
Spa memberships.
And beneath it all, monthly deposits from Saudi Arabia.
My deposits.
Sarah stood beside me silently as I flipped through the evidence. Her face did not change until she saw one receipt.
A child’s birthday cake.
Three tiers.
Blue frosting.
Gold stars.
“Jamie’s fourth birthday,” she whispered.
I remembered that month.
May you like
Mother had told me they threw him a wonderful party. She said Sarah cried from happiness. She said Jamie asked when Daddy would come home.
Sarah touched the receipt with trembling fingers.
