“I assure you, ma’am, the bank cited a freeze placed by the primary corporate account holder.”
My blood ran like ice water. The corporate account. David’s family owned Hayes Manufacturing, a regional empire his father, Arthur Hayes, ruled with an iron fist. David had been a junior partner, but our personal finances were supposed to be completely separate.
Before I could speak, a shadow fell over us. It was my mother-in-law, Beatrice, dressed in impeccable, expensive black silk, smelling of heavy gardenia perfume. Arthur stood half a step behind her, his face a mask of sculpted stone.
“Is there a problem, Mr. Abernathy?” Arthur asked, his voice booming slightly too loud for a house of mourning.
“Just a minor billing issue, Mr. Hayes. Mrs. Hayes’s cards seem to be… unavailable.”
Beatrice smiled. It was a terrifying, razor-thin expression. “Of course they are. Arthur had the bank lock down all family assets this morning. We cannot have company funds bleeding out into the ether, especially now that David is no longer here to oversee his charities.”
Charities. She meant me. She meant my children.
“Beatrice,” I whispered, acutely aware of the gathering crowd of mourners—distant cousins, business associates, neighbors—who were beginning to stare. “This is David’s funeral. Please. Let me handle this later.”
“Handle what?” Beatrice’s voice rose, designed to carry. She stepped into my personal space, her eyes dropping to my left hand. “Handle the money you were siphoning off while my son was dying? Did you think we were blind, Claire? We know about the missing funds.”
