His mouth tightened. “Genevieve was just very upset.”
Genevieve shot him a look. “Do not try to put this entire situation on me, Benjamin.”
I almost laughed at how quickly someone could abandon yesterday’s cruelty.
“You sent the text message from your own phone,” I said to Benjamin.
He looked down.
Genevieve crossed her arms. “The dinner party was complicated because there were major investors in attendance.”
“At a family dinner?” I asked.
“It was not just a family dinner,” she said. “That is exactly what you do not understand about how the world works. Benjamin is currently building relationships, and appearances matter a great deal.”
I looked at my son.
“Did my money matter to you?”
His face flickered with shame—or annoyance dressed as shame.
“Mother, come on,” he muttered.
“No,” I insisted. “Do not come on to me.”
The kitchen stilled. The refrigerator hummed, and the old house sighed around us as if Thomas had leaned back to listen.
I opened the folder.
