So I held the recording inside my silence.
Owen picked up the envelope.
“No.”
He turned.
“What?”
“Leave it.”
“I’ll send you a copy.”
“I want the original you asked me to sign.”
He stared at me.
Then somebody knocked.
Owen frowned.
“Who is that?”
I walked to the door.
When I opened it, Rebecca stood there.
Dad beside her.
Owen’s face changed instantly.
“Daniel.”
Dad looked at him.
“Owen.”
Rebecca stepped inside.
“Good morning.”
Owen’s smile returned.
“Rebecca, right? From last night?”
“Yes.”
I pointed to the envelope.
“I asked Rebecca to review the Savannah papers.”
Owen held it tighter.
“That’s really not necessary.”
Rebecca extended her hand.
“Then my review should be very quick.”
Nobody moved.
The room felt suddenly smaller.
Finally Owen handed it over.
Rebecca removed the documents.
She pretended to read them for the first time.
Then she looked up.
“Where is Exhibit B?”
Owen’s face remained calm.
“I’m not sure.”
“Your agreement incorporates it.”
“Richard has the final attachment.”
“Then Mara cannot sign this.”
“I never said she had to sign it this morning.”
Rebecca’s eyes sharpened.
“You brought it to the bridal suite at midnight with a pen attached.”
Owen looked at me.
“You told her that?”
“I told her you asked me to sign it.”
He laughed once.
“This is ridiculous.”
Dad had said almost nothing.
Now he did.
“If it’s ridiculous, retrieve Exhibit B.”
Owen’s expression cooled.
“This is between Mara and me.”
Dad nodded.
“Yes.”
Then he looked at me.
“Mara?”
The question was simple.
The choice was mine.
I stood straighter.
“I want the full document.”
Owen looked at me for several seconds.
Then he took out his phone.
“Fine.”
He made a call.
“Richard? I need the Savannah supplemental agreement.”
A pause.
“No, now.”
Another pause.
His eyes remained on me.
“Send it to my email.”
He disconnected.
Thirty seconds later, his phone chimed.
He opened the message.
Whatever he saw removed the last trace of color from his face.
Rebecca noticed.
“What does it say?”
Owen locked his phone.
“Nothing.”
I held out my hand.
“Show me.”
“Mara—”
“Show me.”
He did not.
Dad stepped forward, but I raised my hand.
This was mine.
“Owen.”
My voice was quiet.
“You wanted my signature five minutes ago.”
His eyes met mine.
“Now you won’t let me read the document my signature would supposedly complete?”
Silence.
Rebecca spoke.
“That answers quite a lot.”
Owen turned toward her.
“You’re making assumptions.”
“Then correct them.”
His phone buzzed again.
This time the screen lit toward me.
A message preview appeared.
RICHARD: Do not let Mara see the draft language until—
Owen flipped the phone over.
Too late.
I had seen enough.
And the first thing I felt was not heartbreak.
It was certainty.
