Murmurs erupted through the ballroom. I saw Tyler’s father, the managing partner at Ropes & Gray, exchange a significant look with another attorney near the bar.
“You’re lying.” Victoria’s voice cracked. “This is all fabricated. You’re senile, Mother. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’m sharp enough to hire experts,” Eleanor replied. “I’m sharp enough to preserve evidence. And I’m sharp enough to have forwarded this entire file to the Suffolk County District Attorney’s Office last week.”
The color drained completely from Victoria’s face.
“You—you didn’t—”
“Forgery and fraud, Victoria. Up to five years in prison under Massachusetts law.”
Eleanor’s voice was almost gentle now, the same tone she’d once used to explain complex legal concepts to first-year students.
