His face flared white-hot.
There it was—the first crack.
Vivian hissed, “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I’m a forensic accountant, Vivian.”
The chapel fell so quiet I could hear rain tapping against the stained glass.
Most of Daniel’s relatives knew I worked in finance. They didn’t know I specialized in fraud investigations for banks, estates, and corporate litigation. Vivian had never asked. She preferred her version of me: poor, grateful, disposable.
“I know exactly what I’m talking about,” I said. “So did Daniel.”
Grant laughed, too loudly. “This is insane.”
“No,” I said. “Insane was forging Daniel’s signature on three business loans. Insane was moving money through your charity fund. Insane was changing the beneficiary forms after Daniel refused to cover your debts.”
Vivian’s hand flew to her pearls.
Aunt Marlene whispered, “Vivian?”
Vivian turned sharply. “Be quiet.”
That single command did more damage than my accusation. It exposed the real Vivian beneath the mourning mask.
Then Daniel’s phone buzzed in my hand.
A scheduled message appeared on the screen.
For Elena. If they try it at the funeral, play this.
My throat tightened.
Even in death, Daniel had known them better than I did.
I pressed play.
