“Your father made some investments.”
That was how she said it.
Not reckless deals. Not bad loans. Not a failed Tacoma project. Not a partner who vanished with money that would never return.
Some investments.
I picked up the notice and read enough to understand the damage.
They were weeks from losing the house.
The grand Vale house. The house my mother used as proof she had married well. The house where Serena’s success had been framed, displayed, and worshipped.
“Does Serena know?” I asked.
My mother’s face tightened. “Absolutely not.”
That should have told me everything.
Instead, I waited.
“She’s under pressure at work,” my mother said quickly. “She can’t be distracted. Her reputation matters, Clara. She moves in circles you don’t understand.”
I looked at my father.
“How much?”
He finally lifted his head. His eyes were bloodshot.
“Enough,” he whispered.
My mother crossed the room and grabbed my forearms, fingers digging into my uniform.
