Chapter 1 - Rebecca Knew Exactly Whose Daughter I Was
Rebecca Brooks did not tear my dress because she lost her balance.
She did it because I refused to look embarrassed.
My name is Natalie Porter, and I was thirty-one years old when I attended a private engagement dinner at the Brooks family’s Manhattan penthouse.
I was engaged to Rebecca’s younger brother, Daniel Brooks.
Daniel had stepped downstairs to deal with a last-minute issue involving the restaurant delivering dessert.
That left only three people inside the formal dining room.
Rebecca.
Her father, though he had not entered yet.
And me.
Rebecca had been drinking, but not enough to explain anything.
She looked perfectly composed in champagne satin and diamonds.
I wore an emerald evening dress and a thin matching shoulder wrap.
The wrap mattered.
Not because it was expensive.
Because pinned near my shoulder was the only piece of jewelry my mother had specifically asked me to keep.
An old green-and-gold brooch.
Rebecca looked me over.
Then said:
“You really went with that?”
I smiled.
“I did.”
“You know Daniel’s friends will be at the wedding.”
“I assumed.”
“They’re used to a certain level.”
There it was.
The Brooks family’s favorite word.
Level.
I answered:
“Then I hope they survive my dress.”
Rebecca’s mouth tightened.
She stepped closer.
“You think this is funny?”
“I think you’ve been trying to insult me for six months and you’re running out of material.”
That was the mistake.
Not because I deserved what happened.
Because Rebecca wanted a reaction and I had finally told her I knew exactly what she was doing.
She grabbed the emerald wrap with both hands.
I said:
“Rebecca.”
She pulled.
Hard.
RRRIP.
The sheer fabric tore away from my shoulder and damaged the side of my dress.
She threw the torn piece onto the marble floor.
Then laughed.
“There.”
“Now everyone can see exactly what my brother dragged home.”
I stared at:
her.
She stepped closer again.
“A cheap little nobody doesn’t become family because she found a rich man.”
When she reached for my dress a second time, I caught:
her wrist.
We stood inches apart.
She smiled.
“What?”
I released her.
Then stepped forward instead of:
back.
“Finished embarrassing yourself?”
That wiped away the smile.
Rebecca lifted her hand again.
A larger hand caught her wrist from:
behind.
Her father had entered.
William Brooks.
Sixty-seven.
Silver hair.
Glasses.
Black tuxedo.
The founder and chairman of Brooks Meridian Hospitality, a privately held hotel and real-estate company whose name appeared on buildings from Manhattan to Charleston.
He looked at:
Rebecca.
“Enough.”
She froze.
William released her wrist.
Then noticed the torn emerald fabric on the floor.
He bent.
Picked it up.
Something metallic struck:
his wedding ring.
A small sound.
Click.
William stopped.
The brooch was still pinned to the torn wrap.
His face changed before he ever looked at:
me.
He turned the brooch over.
On the back were three tiny engraved marks:
W.B. — E.P. — 1994
His fingers started trembling.
“Where did you get this?”
“My mother.”
His eyes came up.
“What was her name?”
Something in Rebecca’s posture changed.
I saw it.
She knew the answer before:
I said it.
“Elaine Porter.”
William went completely still.
Rebecca whispered:
“Dad.”
He did not look at:
her.
“Elaine Porter was your mother?”
“Yes.”
“How long ago did she die?”
“Last year.”
William closed his eyes.
Then opened them.
“Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
I thought the question was directed at:
me.
It wasn’t.
He turned toward:
Rebecca.
“Why didn’t you tell me Elaine had a daughter?”
Rebecca stared at him.
“What are you talking about?”
William’s voice became colder.
“The heir-location report.”
My stomach tightened.
“What heir-location report?”
Rebecca said:
“Dad, this isn’t—”
William interrupted.
“You commissioned it.”
Silence.
Then he looked at:
me.
“Six months ago Brooks Meridian sold Meridian Tower.”
I knew the property.
Everybody in Manhattan hospitality did.
“What does that have to do with my mother?”
William looked down at:
the brooch.
“Your mother had a deferred compensation agreement tied to that building.”
I stared.
“She did?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know the final number.”
Then:
“Millions.”
Rebecca said:
“She knew.”
I turned.
“What?”
“You knew exactly what Elaine had.”
“No.”
“You expect us to believe you accidentally started dating Daniel?”
William looked toward:
Rebecca.
“You had her investigated.”
That shut her up.
He continued.
“And your investigator concluded Natalie appeared not to know about the agreement.”
My skin went cold.
Rebecca had known who my mother was.
Knew about the money.
Knew I probably did not.
And still spent six months calling me:
poor,
opportunistic,
cheap.
William looked at his daughter.
Then said something I did not understand until the next morning.
“Tell Natalie why transaction counsel asked us to reserve four million dollars from the Meridian sale.”
Rebecca’s face went pale.
William continued.
“Then tell her why you released most of that reserve anyway.”
That was the moment I understood Rebecca had not merely been hiding:
my mother’s name.
She had already moved money that might have been needed to pay:
May you like
my mother’s estate.
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