She looked up for barely a second.
“The same as you. Why?”
“Because you both paid Russell.”
Her smile vanished…

For a moment Tiffany didn’t even breathe. The invitation in her hand bent along its gold-embossed edge.

Then she put on the expression she reserved for investors’ wives who had asked questions she considered beneath them.

“Russell has done work for our family for years,” she said. “Paying him isn’t a crime.”

“No. Paying him to falsify evidence against my wife might be.”

“Ex-wife,” she corrected. I noticed that.

She cared more about the title than the accusation. I placed the two invoices on the kitchen island.

Tiffany studied them without picking them up. For the first time since I’d known her, the practiced ease disappeared from her shoulders. “You’re making this into something ugly,” she said.

“Megan made her choices.” “Did she choose to have three babies?”

The silence answered a question I hadn’t actually asked.

Tiffany reached for her glass.