Chapter 5 - THE PRICE OF TWENTY-TWO YEARS
Three hundred and sixty thousand dollars.
The number followed me home.
I sat in the same workshop where Victoria had destroyed my suit less than twenty-four hours earlier.
The room hadn't changed.
Spools of thread.
Patterns pinned to the wall.
My father's old wooden cutting ruler.
The sewing machine I bought when Sabrina started kindergarten.
But now the workshop felt like a crime scene.
Martin sat across from me while two bank representatives reviewed copies of the loan.
The money had been deposited six weeks earlier into an account created under the name Kensington Custom Holdings.
It sounded legitimate.
It wasn't mine.
The account was controlled by Victoria and Raymond.
“How did they borrow against my business?” I asked.
One investigator answered.
“They submitted a purchase agreement.”
My stomach tightened.
“Purchase agreement?”
“According to these records, you sold seventy percent of the tailoring company to R.H. Consulting eight months ago.”
“I did no such thing.”
“We believe the signatures may be forged.”
“May be?”
He softened.
“Mr. Kensington, we need forensic review before making conclusions.”
I looked at Martin.
“What happened to the money?”
“Most of it moved.”
“Where?”
“Raymond purchased something.”
“What?”
Martin turned his tablet.
A property in Cabo San Lucas.
Four bedrooms.
Ocean view.
Infinity pool.
Purchased through another LLC.
The closing date was three weeks earlier.
Victoria had been planning a new life.
Not eventually.
Already.
I leaned back.
For some reason, that hurt differently from the wedding.
Raymond replacing me at the aisle was humiliating.
Forged signatures were criminal.
But a house in Mexico made the betrayal intimate.
She had walked through kitchens.
Chosen bedrooms.
Imagined mornings.
A future.
Without me.
Using money extracted from the business I built with my hands.
“Did Sabrina know about Cabo?”
Martin hesitated.
“We don't know.”
I closed my eyes.
I wasn't sure I wanted the answer.
My phone vibrated.
Sabrina.
I let it ring.
Again.
Then a message appeared.
Please talk to me. Logan left. Mom won't tell me the truth. Raymond disappeared. I don't know where to go.
I stared at it.
Martin noticed.
“You don't have to respond immediately.”
“I raised her.”
“Yes.”
“Why does everyone keep saying things that make that sound like a weakness?”
“It isn't.”
He folded his hands.
“But loving someone doesn't require protecting them from facts.”
I replied with one sentence.
You can come to the workshop alone.
She arrived forty minutes later.
No wedding dress.
She had changed into jeans and one of Logan's old college sweatshirts.
Her face was swollen from crying.
She stopped at the doorway.
I continued folding fabric.
“Dad.”
“Sabrina.”
She looked around the workshop.
Her eyes landed on the torn suit.
I hadn't thrown the pieces away.
They sat beside the machine.
She touched one sleeve.
“Mom really destroyed it.”
“You watched her.”
“I know.”
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then she whispered, “I'm sorry.”
I waited.
That wasn't enough anymore.
She understood.
“I was horrible.”
“Yes.”
Her face crumpled.
“You don't have to agree that fast.”
“I spent most of your life making lies softer for you.”
She stared at me.
“I think I should stop.”
She sat.
“I wanted Raymond to want me.”
That surprised me.
She looked down.
“He kept disappearing when I was little. Even after he started calling again when I was sixteen, he'd promise visits and cancel. Then last year he suddenly wanted everything.”
“Why last year?”
She laughed bitterly.
“Now I know.”
Money.
My money.
“Mom said he regretted leaving. She said he finally understood that I was his daughter.”
“And you believed her.”
“I wanted to.”
That answer I understood.
She wiped her eyes.
“When he offered to walk me down the aisle, it felt like...”
She stopped.
“Like he chose you.”
“Yes.”
“And for that, you decided I had to become nothing.”
She looked at me.
“I didn't think of it like that.”
“I know.”
That was the problem.
She covered her face.
“I thought you'd forgive me afterward.”
“Of course you did.”
“Because you always do.”
“Yes.”
Her crying became harder.
That realization mattered more than any apology.
I waited.
Finally she said, “I signed the witness statement.”
“I know.”
“Raymond told me it was just paperwork confirming Mom's interest in the house.”
“Did you see me sign it?”
“No.”
“Then why sign?”
She looked ashamed.
“Mom said it was family business.”
“And what did I teach you about signing documents?”
She almost smiled through tears.
“Read every page.”
“And?”
“Never sign what you didn't witness.”
I nodded.
She breathed shakily.
“I knew better.”
“Yes.”
“Will I go to jail?”
I hated that question.
Not because I thought she deserved immunity.
Because she was still my daughter.
“I don't know.”
Her face went white.
“You need your own attorney.”
“I can't afford—”
“I'll pay for the first consultation.”
She looked at me.
“Why?”
“Because helping you obtain legal advice is not the same as lying for you.”
Her lower lip trembled.
“Thank you.”
“Don't thank me yet.”
I pushed a document across the table.
The Cabo property.
She read it.
Confusion.
Then horror.
“What is this?”
“You tell me.”
“I've never seen it.”
“You didn't know?”
“No.”
She looked at the price.
Then the owner.
R.H. Consulting.
“My God.”
She pulled out her phone.
“I saw Mom looking at this house.”
“When?”
“Two months ago.”
My heart sank.
“She said it was for our honeymoon.”
“What?”
Sabrina looked at me.
“She said Logan's parents might rent it for us.”
I leaned forward.
“Did Logan know?”
“No.”
Of course not.
Then Sabrina became very still.
“Wait.”
“What?”
“Mom asked me to send her a copy of your passport.”
My blood chilled.
“When?”
“Three months ago.”
“Why?”
“She said the airline needed it because she was planning a surprise anniversary trip for you.”
There had been no anniversary trip.
Martin, who had remained silent in the corner, stepped forward.
“Did you send it?”
“Yes.”
He looked at me.
“This could be identity theft beyond the loans.”
Sabrina suddenly stood.
“There is something else.”
She was shaking.
“What?”
“Raymond gave me an envelope yesterday.”
“What's in it?”
“He said if anything went wrong at the wedding, I should destroy it.”
Martin and I exchanged a glance.
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Where is it?”
“In my bridal bag.”
She grabbed her keys.
“I left it at Mom's sister's house.”
Martin held up a hand.
“You're not going alone.”
An hour later, Sabrina returned with the envelope.
Inside were photocopies of deeds.
Bank authorizations.
My passport.
Victoria's passport.
And two one-way airline tickets to Mexico scheduled for Monday afternoon.
But there were three names.
Victoria Kensington.
Raymond Hayes.
And Sabrina Kensington.
Sabrina stared at her ticket.
“I never agreed to leave.”
I believed her.
Then Martin found the final page.
A life-insurance document.
My name at the top.
Victoria listed as beneficiary.
The policy had been increased six months earlier.
From $250,000.
To $2 million.
Sabrina stopped crying.
I stopped breathing.
May you like
And suddenly Monday's plan looked much darker than simple financial theft.
---
