“He made sure you received exactly what you deserved.”
Rebecca let out another laugh.
“Well,” she murmured, “at least Dad remained consistent.”
I looked at her.
She had said almost those exact words after my wedding.
She had cornered me near the staircase of Richard’s house while guests drank champagne beneath chandeliers that probably cost more than my first apartment.
“You don’t really think you’re going to keep any of this, do you?”
I had pretended not to understand.
“Any of what?”
She had looked around.
The paintings.
The marble.
The silver.
The house.
“My father’s money.”
Richard had overheard.
He had walked toward us holding two glasses of champagne.
Instead of getting angry, he had smiled.
“Don’t worry, Rebecca.”
Then he handed me one of the glasses.
“Claire will receive exactly what she deserves.”
At the time, I had not known whether that was a promise or a warning.
