stomach tightened.
“Why am I in this picture?”
“You aren’t,” Jonah replied. “Not yet.”
I looked up at him, confused.
He pulled out the envelope and spread its contents across the table. There were bank statements, copies of legal documents, and a letter written in my name.
Except I had never written it.
The letter was dated two months before Jonah and I married.
It contained a single sentence.
If Jonah is convicted, the girl will receive monthly payments until the agreement is complete.
I read it twice.
Then a
third time.
“What agreement?”
Jonah sat down across from me.
“Before my father died, he discovered that someone in our family had been stealing from the charity. He kept evidence in a private account. When he died, that evidence disappeared.”
“And you think Daniel took it?”
“I know he did.”
“Then what does this have to do with me?”
Jonah slid another document toward me.
My signature was at the bottom.
My real signature.
I recognized every curve.
But the document was dated before our wedding, and I had never
