don’t know.”
“But you know Maya works on it?”
“Maya works on everything awful,” Tessa said, her voice thin. “That’s not my fault.”
My mother rose halfway from her chair. “This is inappropriate. Helena, truly, whatever professional connection exists, this is a family celebration.”
“That is precisely why I find it interesting,” Helena said.
My father wiped his mouth with his napkin though he had eaten nothing.
I heard Priya’s warning in my head. Do not disclose confidential material. Do not accuse anyone. If someone makes a statement, remember it.
So I said only, “I reported the conflict this morning. I am no longer assigned to the file.”
Helena’s eyes flickered. Respect, perhaps. Or calculation.
“Did you know last night?” she asked.
“No. My mother called after one in the morning to invite me.”
Callum turned sharply. “After one in the morning?”
Tessa’s cheeks flushed. “We forgot.”
I looked at her.
She looked away.
My mother said, “Maya has always been sensitive about invitations.”
Something in me settled then. Not broke. Settled. Like a glass placed firmly on a table.
“No,” I said. “I’ve always been sensitive about being lied about. There’s a difference.”
My mother’s mouth tightened. “Not tonight.”
“You called me in the middle of the night and told me not to talk about fraud.”
Callum went very still.
Helena’s gaze snapped to my mother.
Tessa whispered, “Mom.”
That whisper was the first honest thing she had said all night. It carried fear. Not of me. Of exposure.
My father pushed his chair back. “Enough.”
For a moment, everyone looked at him because my father rarely took command unless he had already lost control.
He stood with one hand flat on the table.
“This is a misunderstanding,” he said. “A business matter that will be corrected. No one stole anything. No one meant harm.”
Helena’s face hardened.
“Corrected,” she repeated.
My father realized too late what he had admitted.
The room seemed to lean toward him.
Callum’s voice came out quiet. “Mr. Ellison, what business matter?”
My mother stepped in front of the question like a person blocking a doorway.
“Daniel, sit down.”
“I said enough,” my father snapped.
Tessa flinched. I almost did too. Old reflex.
Helena placed her champagne glass on the table. “No, Mr. Ellison. I would like to hear the rest. What exactly were you planning to correct?”
My father looked at Tessa.
That look told the truth before either of them could.
It was brief, desperate, paternal. A look that said I did this for you and also You were not supposed to say anything.
Callum saw it.
His face changed.
“Tessa,” he said. “What did your father do?”
Tessa’s eyes filled with tears. They were beautiful tears, perfectly timed, the kind that had saved her since childhood.
“I don’t know why everyone is attacking us,” she said.
“No one is attacking you,” Callum said. “I’m asking you a question.”
“At our engagement dinner.”
“Yes,” he said, and pain entered his voice. “At our engagement dinner.”
My mother turned on me then, because she always did when Tessa’s tears needed a villain.
“Are you happy?” she hissed. “You finally have your audience. You finally get to humiliate your sister in front of people who matter.”
There it was again.
People who matter.
I
