Ryan stared at the first page in the folder, and for several seconds the restaurant seemed to disappear around us.
He did not look at Ashley.
He did not look at Victoria.
He looked at the signature at the bottom of the document.
My signature.
Or rather, an imitation of it.
The color slowly drained from his face.
I had seen Ryan frightened before, although he would never have called it fear.
He called it irritation when an investor challenged him.
He called it impatience when a deal began slipping away.
He called it anger when someone refused to accept his version of events.
But this was different.
This was recognition.
He knew exactly what he was looking at.
Ashley leaned toward him.
“What is that?”
Ryan closed the folder too quickly.
“Nothing.”
Victoria finally spoke.
“I would advise you not to handle the documents unnecessarily, Mr.
Bennett.”
Ryan looked up sharply.
“And who exactly are you?”
“You know who I am.”
That was true.
Victoria Reynolds had attended two corporate dinners with us during the previous year.
Ryan had barely acknowledged her because he had assumed she handled routine family legal matters.
He had never asked why I had started meeting with her more often.
Now he looked from Victoria to me.
“What is this supposed to be?”
I reopened the folder.
The first document concerned a transfer Ryan had authorized from an account connected to assets that were not his alone to control.
The signature beside mine looked convincing at first glance.
It was supposed to.
Ryan had spent years watching me sign invitations, financial forms, household documents, donation agreements.
He knew the shape of my handwriting.
He knew where I crossed certain letters.
Apparently, he believed knowing my signature was the same as having permission to use it.
“I never signed this,” I said.
Ryan scoffed.
“Then you forgot.”
Ashley turned to him.
“You said this was dinner.”
“It is.”
“No,” I said.
“Dinner was your idea.
The meeting is mine.”
The general manager remained a few steps behind me.
He had been instructed not to interfere unless necessary, but his presence mattered.
Ryan noticed him again.
“Why is hotel management standing here?”
I glanced toward the ceiling, the chandeliers, the room Ryan had chosen specifically because he wanted to impress Ashley.
“You really never asked much about my family business, did you?”
He frowned.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
Ashley answered before I could.
