La vérité sous la peinture argentée

I stared at the bank statement.

“Where did the money go?””

Eleanor turned to my father.

“That’s what I’d like to know.””

Richard’s voice sharpened.

“Your mother sold her shares.””

“No,” Eleanor said.

“She didn’t.””

“You’re remembering things incorrectly.””

“I have the original shareholder register in my office. Catherine never signed a sale agreement.””

Vanessa laughed, but the sound was brittle.

“This is absurd. You’re both turning a schoolgirl’s tantrum into a criminal investigation.””

Eleanor faced her.

“Then you won’t mind explaining why your name appears on a transfer authorization dated six months after Catherine died.””

Vanessa’s lips pressed together.

I looked down at the page.

The transfer was for $480,000.

The recipient account belonged to a company called V. Sinclair Holdings.

“Who’s Sinclair?”” I asked.

Vanessa’s expression changed so quickly that I nearly missed it.

Eleanor didn’t.

“Her maiden name,” she said.

My father reached for the paper.

I stepped back.

“Don’t.””

His eyes flashed.

“I’m your father.””

“Then act like it.””

He recoiled as if I’d struck him.

For one brief second, I saw something other than anger in his face.

Shame, perhaps.

Or fear.

Then he looked toward the cameras.

“Security,” he called.

“Please escort my daughter backstage. She’s having an emotional episode.””

Nobody moved.

The pageant director approached instead.

“Mr. Hart, I think we should pause the competition.””

“Absolutely not,” Vanessa snapped.

“This event has sponsors, donors, and a schedule. We will not allow a disturbed teenager to ruin it.””

“I’m eighteen,” I said.

“And apparently determined to ruin your own future.””

I looked at my ruined dress.

Silver paint glittered along my waist. One of the blue flowers had come loose, and I pressed it back into place.

“No,” I said.

“I’m determined to find out what happened to my mother.””

Eleanor took the microphone.

“The competition will continue after a brief intermission. Amelia will not be disqualified for bringing a concern to our attention.””

Vanessa spun toward her.

“You can’t do that!””

“I can. I’m the head judge.””

Eleanor then lowered her voice so only those of us near the microphone could hear.

“Amelia, there’s something else you need to know.””

She glanced toward my father.

“Your mother didn’t die believing she had lost everything.””

My breath caught.

“What does that mean?””

Eleanor hesitated.

Before she could answer, a man in a dark suit appeared beside the stage. He wore a small silver pin on his lapel and carried a leather folder.

He leaned toward my father.

“Mr. Hart, the board has been notified. They’ve requested your immediate presence.””

My father went pale.

Vanessa grabbed his arm.

“Richard, don’t say anything.””

The man opened his folder.

“I’m afraid it’s already too late. Someone submitted the original trust documents this afternoon.””

I stared at him.

“Who?””

He looked directly at me.

“You did, Miss Hart. At least, someone submitted them under your mother’s name and included a request for a beneficiary review.””

“I didn’t submit anything.””

Eleanor’s eyes narrowed.

The man removed a sealed page from the folder.

“Then perhaps you should see who signed the request.””

He turned the document around.

At the bottom was a signature I recognized from every birthday card my mother had ever written.

Catherine Lane Hart.

And beneath it was a date.

Three days before her death.