My late husband and I had opened the restaurant thirty-one years earlier, and I still owned sixty percent. Membership number 000213 was actually the founder’s house account. Nobody could charge a single dollar without my personal approval. Trevor knew I had invested in a restaurant years ago; he had simply never cared enough to discover which one. When I displayed the practiced signatures, Vivian’s face went pale.

The truth quickly unraveled. Malcolm’s expensive-looking watch was a replica, and his family was three months behind on their mortgage. Vivian had copied my signature from a birthday card I sent Chelsea, while Trevor had taken my membership number from an old receipt in my kitchen. Chelsea claimed I had authorized everything, and my son chose to believe her without asking me. Marco immediately canceled the reception, and security escorted the Reed family outside. I filed a police report that evening. But before Trevor left, I sat beside him and asked one question he couldn’t answer.