Chapter 4 - Greg’s Millionaire Story
Nobody spoke for several seconds.
Dad picked up the invoice.
He read it twice.
“This isn’t possible.”
“It is.”
Mom looked at Greg.
“I thought your family paid.”
Greg’s face hardened.
Sarah turned toward him.
“You told me your father arranged everything.”
“I said it was handled.”
“No.”
“You said your family was paying.”
Greg looked at me instead.
“You deliberately made everyone think that.”
“I told Sarah her wedding was covered.”
“I never told anyone you paid.”
Sarah stared at him.
“You knew?”
Greg didn’t answer.
That was enough.
Sarah stepped backward.
“You knew Elena was paying?”
“Sarah—”
“How long?”
Greg rubbed his jaw.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me!”
I watched something unravel between them.
Greg had built his identity around wealth.
His family supposedly owned commercial real estate.
He supposedly had investment accounts.
He supposedly flew private because commercial travel was inconvenient.
My parents worshipped him because they believed he represented everything I wasn’t.
Rich.
Connected.
Important.
Except I had reviewed his background before agreeing to fund the wedding.
Greg’s father owned a successful regional construction company.
They were comfortable.
They were not billionaires.
They were not even close.
And Greg’s personal finances were considerably worse.
I had assumed Sarah knew.
Apparently, she didn’t.
Dad looked at me.
“Where did you get two million dollars?”
“That isn’t the important question.”
“It absolutely is.”
“I’ve been managing Grandpa’s holdings for twelve years.”
Mom frowned.
“What holdings?”
“The ones everyone assumed were sold after he died.”
Silence.
Grandpa Hart had been the only person in my family who never treated me like the disappointing daughter.
He taught me bookkeeping when I was fourteen.
Investing when I was sixteen.
Corporate structures when I was nineteen.
When he died, everyone received inheritances.
Mine looked modest.
Because the real inheritance wasn’t cash.
It was responsibility.
Dad stared at me.
“You’re saying you inherited this money?”
“Some of it.”
“How much?”
“That’s private.”
Sarah laughed bitterly.
“You had millions while I was struggling?”
“You were never struggling.”
“I paid your graduate-school tuition.”
Mom’s head snapped toward me.
“What?”
“I covered Sarah’s final two years.”
Sarah went pale.
Dad looked confused.
“I thought she received a scholarship.”
“She did.”
“From me.”
Sarah whispered.
“Stop.”
I looked at her.
“You wanted the truth.”
“You’re getting it.”
Mom sat down.
I continued.
“The down payment on your first condo?”
“Me.”
“Dad’s surgery when the insurance dispute delayed coverage?”
“Me.”
“Your anniversary trip?”
“Me.”
Mom looked sick.
“Why didn’t you tell us?”
“Because Grandpa asked me not to use money to control people.”
“And because I wanted to know whether my family could respect me without knowing what I had.”
Nobody had an answer.
Then Mr. Bennett’s phone vibrated.
He checked it.
His expression changed.
“Ms. Hart.”
“What?”
“Security found Mr. Mercer’s brother attempting to leave the administrative office.”
Greg stiffened.
“With what?”
Mr. Bennett looked directly at him.
“A copy of the master account authorization.”
I turned toward Greg.
He said nothing.
May you like
That silence frightened me more than any denial could have.
Because suddenly, the wedding was no longer the biggest problem on the island.
