Chapter 13: The Question

Portia stood at the board table with tears on her cheeks, and forty cameras in the corridor caught every one.

My father closed his eyes and bowed his head.

"Sweetheart," he whispered to her. "You didn't have to."

The officers at the door took one step into the room.

I stood up slowly.

"Portia, I only have one question for you," I said. "Just one."

"Abby, please don't make me."

"It's a simple question. You'll know the answer."

She wiped her face with a knuckle and nodded.

"You say you saw me alter the check in the upstairs hall, before the party."

"Yes."

"Then where was the envelope?"

Her lips parted.

"My mother sealed the check in an envelope that morning," I said. "She left it on the silver tray by the front door."

"I walked into that house less than an hour before the party started."

"You carried that envelope across the ballroom yourself, and you handed it to her sealed."

"I know, because I watched you do it."

The old director with the mustache sat up.

"So which was it?" I asked. "Did I open a sealed envelope off a tray downstairs, in front of the staff, and carry the check up to the hall?"

"Or did I stand in the hall with a check that was already inside a sealed envelope in your hands?"

Portia's mouth moved with no sound.

"Who gave you the envelope, Portia?"

"Abby, I..."

"And what did it feel like when you picked it up? Thick? Thin? Had it been opened and closed again?"

"I don't know."

"Did you look inside?"

"No!"

It burst out of her, high and raw, and the whole room heard it.

She clapped a hand over her mouth.

My father said, "Portia," in a low, gentle voice.

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