Chapter 2: The Price of Belonging
George crossed the ballroom so quickly that he nearly knocked over a champagne glass.
“Give me the microphone.””
Beverly pulled it away.
“Why?””
“Because you've said enough.””
“No, George. I've spent eighteen months cleaning up after this relationship. Ethan deserves to know.””
“Cleaning up?””
The words came out before I could stop them.
Beverly looked pleased.
Fiona looked terrified.
That was when I realized there was something else happening.
Something nobody had told me.
“Fiona,” I said, “what is she talking about?””
“Nothing.””
Beverly laughed.
“Nothing?””
“Mom, please.””
“Your father called in favors for him.””
I looked at George.
“What favors?””
George rubbed his forehead.
“Beverly.””
She continued anyway.
“Introductions. Recommendations. Invitations. Doors that don't open for people from his world.””
The last three words landed harder than the insult.
People from his world.
My mother heard them too.
I saw her straighten.
“Interesting,” I said.
“Which doors?””
Beverly blinked.
“What?””
“You said George opened doors for me. Which ones?””
“Ethan,” Fiona whispered.
“No. I want examples.””
Beverly lowered the microphone slightly.
“Your promotion.””
I stared at her.
“My promotion?””
“At Harrington.””
A few guests murmured.
I almost smiled.
That promotion had taken me three years.
Three years of seventy-hour weeks, missed holidays, red-eye flights and rebuilding a division that had been bleeding money before I inherited it.
“You think George got me promoted?””
“I know he did.””
George closed his eyes.
“That's enough.””
“No,” I said.
“Actually, I'd like to hear this.””
Beverly pointed toward her husband.
“George spoke to the board.””
Something cold moved through me.
I turned toward him.
“Did you?””
George didn't answer immediately.
“George?””
“I had conversations.””
“With my board?””
“Informal conversations.””
“Without telling me?””
He glanced at Fiona.
That glance told me more than his words.
I stepped closer.
“What did you tell them?””
“Ethan, this isn't the place.””
“Apparently this is exactly the place.””
The room had become so quiet I could hear silverware being placed onto plates.
George lowered his voice.
“I mentioned that you were marrying into our family.””
My stomach tightened.
“Why?””
“To reassure certain people.””
“About what?””
“Your stability.””
I laughed once.
There was nothing funny about it.
“My stability.””
Fiona moved between us.
“Dad was helping.””
“Did you know?””
She froze.
That was my answer.
“You knew.””
“Ethan, it wasn't like that.””
“How was it?””
She lowered her voice.
“You were frustrated about the promotion.””
“So your father called my company?””
“He knew two board members.””
“And you thought that was acceptable?””
“I thought you'd be happy.””
My mother stepped forward.
“Ethan earned that position.””
Beverly turned toward her.
“This doesn't concern you.””
Mom stopped.
For the first time that evening, something sharper appeared in her eyes.
“It concerns me when you humiliate my son.””
Beverly gave a thin smile.
“Your son has benefited enormously from this family.””
“And your daughter hasn't?””
Fiona stared at Mom.
“What is that supposed to mean?””
Mom looked at me.
“Nothing.””
But I knew that look.
My mother knew something.
“Mom?””
“Not tonight.””
“Tell me.””
She shook her head.
Beverly scoffed.
“Here comes the performance.””
Mom ignored her.
I walked closer.
“What do you know?””
“Ethan.””
“Please.””
She looked around the ballroom.
Then at Fiona.
“I promised I wouldn't interfere.””
My pulse quickened.
“Promised who?””
Before Mom could answer, Fiona snapped.
“Can we stop pretending she's some innocent victim?””
The words came out louder than she intended.
My mother went still.
So did I.
Fiona's face flushed.
“She has judged my family from the beginning.””
“Fiona,” I said quietly.
“She has.””
“How?””
“She asks questions.””
Mom blinked.
“I ask questions?””
“About our business. About my father's investments. About where the wedding money came from.””
George suddenly looked alarmed.
“Fiona.””
But she was angry now.
“She acts like everything we have needs to be justified.””
Mom stared at her.
“I asked your father one question.””
“Exactly.””
“What question?”” I asked.
Nobody answered.
I looked at Mom.
“What did you ask him?””
Mom slowly opened her cream handbag.
Beverly rolled her eyes.
“Oh, for God's sake.””
Mom removed a plain white envelope.
George's face drained of color.
I noticed immediately.
So did Beverly.
“What is that?”” she demanded.
Mom held the envelope against her chest.
“Something George gave me six weeks ago.””
Beverly turned toward her husband.
“You gave her something?””
George said nothing.
“George?””
He looked toward the exits.
That frightened me more than anything else that evening.
My mother handed me the envelope.
It was heavier than I expected.
“What is this?””
“Open it somewhere private,” she said.
Beverly moved toward me.
“Give me that.””
I stepped back.
Her composure cracked.
“Ethan, I'm serious.””
“So am I.””
“Whatever she gave you has nothing to do with your marriage.””
George finally spoke.
“Actually, Beverly, it does.””
Everyone turned.
Fiona whispered, “Dad?””
George looked twenty years older.
“There's something Ethan should have been told before today.””
Beverly grabbed his arm.
“Don't.””
He pulled away.
“You wanted everything public, Beverly.””
Her face tightened.
George looked at me.
“I made mistakes.””
“What mistakes?””
“Business mistakes.””
I glanced at the envelope.
Then at Fiona.
Her eyes were filling with tears.
“Did you know about this?””
“No,” she whispered.
For once, I believed her.
Mom touched my shoulder.
“We should leave.””
Beverly blocked our path.
“You are not walking out of my daughter's wedding with private family documents.””
My blood went cold.
I looked down at the envelope.
Mom had never said they were family documents.
Only Beverly had.
“How do you know what's inside?””
Beverly's mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
George sank into a chair.
And suddenly the orchestra, flowers, chandeliers and five hundred guests disappeared from my awareness.
There was only that envelope.
I tore it open.
Inside were copies of financial records, legal correspondence, and a handwritten note.
The first page meant nothing to me.
The second contained a company name I recognized.
The third contained mine.
I stopped breathing.
“Mom.””
She closed her eyes.
“I'm sorry.””
I read the line again.
My name.
My employee identification number.
A transaction.
And beside it, a signature that looked disturbingly familiar.
I turned toward Fiona.
She was crying now.
“What did your family do?””
“I don't know.””
“Ethan,” George said, standing slowly.
“There's an explanation.””
“For using my name?””
Beverly stepped backward.
Several guests were recording openly now.
George looked at my mother.
“You weren't supposed to bring those here.””
Mom's voice remained calm.
“I wasn't supposed to need them.””
I unfolded the final sheet.
At the bottom was a date.
Six weeks earlier.
The same night George had visited my mother alone.
Above the date was a short handwritten sentence.
I recognized George's handwriting from dozens of wedding cards and dinner invitations.
I read it once.
Then again.
My hands began shaking.
Fiona reached for the page.
“What does it say?””
I looked at George.
He wouldn't meet my eyes.
Then I read the sentence aloud.
“Ethan must never find out who actually financed the Martinez acquisition.””
Mom whispered, “Keep reading.””
I looked beneath it.
May you like
There was one more line.
And when I saw the name written there, I understood why my mother had begged me to open the envelope in private.
