And for the first time all night, I saw a genuine look of alarm on his face.

“What trust fund?” I asked.

My father went incredibly still.

I felt a hole open up under my feet.
“Dad.”
He exhaled slowly.

“There’s something I didn’t tell you before because I didn’t think it was necessary yet. And then because…” he stopped, annoyed with himself, “because I thought your marriage could be saved if I didn’t put more weight on you.”

I looked at him without understanding.

“What thing?”

It was Stephen who answered.

“Your grandfather left a testamentary trust for you. You wouldn’t gain full control until you turned thirty-five, or until there was proven financial risk due to economic abuse or marital coercion. You turned thirty-four two months ago.”

I felt a slow wave of dizziness.

“And Patrick knew?”

My father closed his eyes for a second.

“He wasn’t supposed to. But he must have caught wind of something. Weeks ago he asked me two very specific questions about some investments your grandfather left in the grandchildren’s names. I deflected the conversation. I didn’t imagine…”

He went quiet.

There was no need to finish.

He didn’t imagine that Patrick was already snooping around for something bigger.

My voice barely came out.

“How much is it?”

Stephen didn’t respond with an immediate number. He reached for a different folder, opened it, and showed me a summary.

Real estate.
Bonds.

A minority stake in a private clinic.

Continued on the next page