Adrian finally found his voice.
“Mom,” he whispered.
Then, louder and horrified:
“Mom, do you know who she is?”
No one moved.
Veronica’s face twisted. “She is your wife, apparently. A badly raised one.”
Adrian stared at the papers scattered around the room.
“No,” he said. “You don’t understand.”
I did.
That was the moment I understood something else too: Adrian hadn’t protected me because he was afraid of his family. He had protected them from the truth because he wanted to keep pretending their approval mattered.
Veronica crossed her arms. “Then enlighten us.”
I stepped around the overturned table.
“My name is Elena Marlowe.”
One of the uncles shrugged.
The aunt holding the notebook suddenly stopped breathing.
She knew.
Marlowe Capital had financed half the luxury developments on the eastern seaboard, including three companies the Vale family relied upon.
But that wasn’t my real advantage.
