Patricia did not push the documents across the desk dramatically.
She simply turned them enough for Vanessa to see the estate name, my name, and the signatures she recognized from her own paperwork.
Vanessa leaned forward.
Her bracelet slid down her wrist.
“But you work part-time.”
“I do.”
“At some tiny accounting firm.”
“I do financial work downtown.
You never asked what else I did.”
“You said David was a teacher.”
“David is a teacher.”
“So how—”
She stopped herself.
The question sounded ugly even before she finished it.
I folded my hands on the desk.
“You decided what my life was worth based on the salary you imagined I made.
Mom agreed with you.
Neither of you ever asked me a serious question about my work, my investments, or Belmore.
You only explained my own life to me.”
Mom blinked several times.
“Elena, we didn’t know.”
“I know.”
“Why wouldn’t you tell us?”
That question came quickly, almost accusingly, as if my privacy had been the real offense.
I looked at her.
“Would it have changed how you spoke to me?”
Mom opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
Vanessa recovered first.
She always did.
Her shoulders straightened.
Her humiliation turned into anger because anger was easier for her to carry.
“So you deliberately let me book this place while knowing I didn’t know you owned it.”
“Yes.”
“You watched me spend all that money.”
“You chose the package yourself.
Patricia explained every price before you signed.”
“You could have stopped me.”
“Patricia asked me whether she should decline your booking.
I told her to process it normally.”
Vanessa stared at Patricia.
Patricia met her eyes.
“That’s true.”
For a moment, I saw Vanessa return mentally to that first afternoon.
My phone lighting beneath my hand.
Patricia’s tightened jaw.
My quiet departure.
All the pieces she had dismissed because she had already decided I was the least important person in the room.
“You set me up,” she said.
“No.”
My voice stayed level.
“You booked a venue.
You insulted me while you did it.
Those were separate decisions, and both were yours.”
Trevor shifted in his chair.
Vanessa turned toward him, perhaps expecting support.
