Chapter 12: The Forged Signature

The Chamber of Commerce dinner filled the ballroom of a lakefront hotel.

Four hundred guests in black tie sat at round tables under a ceiling of crystal.

Cameras lined the back wall.

I walked in on Rowan's arm in an emerald dress that Mrs. Verran's seamstress had altered in four hours.

It fit.

It fit everywhere, and I let myself feel that for one moment.

The room went quiet in rings.

Tobias sat at a front table in a black tuxedo.

Beside him, in pearls and navy silk, sat Constance.

She stared at me over her wineglass.

I did not look away.

The master of ceremonies hurried over, flustered.

"Mrs. Verran, we didn't know you'd be attending..."

"Mr. Verran invited me this morning," I said. "On television. I'd like to answer."

He blinked.

"I'm not sure that's..."

"Let her," called a voice from the Verran table.

Mrs. Verran was in a wheelchair, with a blanket on her knees, and she had never looked more regal.

The master of ceremonies handed me a microphone.

I climbed the three steps of the dais.

The lights were hot.

Four hundred faces looked up, and I thought of every time a face like those had looked past me.

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