Peter had attended our wedding anniversary parties.
He had eaten Thanksgiving dinner in this house.
He had stood three rows behind us
at Anne’s funeral.
“He arranged the loan?” I asked.
Daniel nodded.
“He said Mom didn’t want you involved because she knew you and I were already fighting about the studio.”
“Did he show you the guarantee?”
“Not then.”
“Did you sign anything?”
“My company’s loan documents. Nothing involving Hawthorne.”
“Where did the money go?”
“Directly to the studio’s bank.”
“How much did you receive?”
“Four hundred thousand.”
Claire frowned.
“The guarantee is for seven hundred and fifty.”
Daniel stared at her.
“What?”
She lifted the document toward the camera.
“Seven
hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”
“No.”
His answer was immediate.
“My company received four hundred.”
I felt the shape of the mystery change again.
This was not simply a forged guarantee created to help my son.
