The organ swelled, the doors opened, and every guest rose. Grandpa Howard and I walked slowly down the aisle, his cane tapping against the marble. Halfway, he suddenly stopped. The music faltered. He turned toward Mom, who sat in the front pew in her pearl-gray dress, and said in a voice that carried to every corner, “Diane, I know where her college fund went.”

The entire church gasped. My father’s smile vanished instantly, and the color drained from his face. Mom gripped the pew, whispering in panic, “Howard, please, not here, not today.” Brooke and Camille stopped smirking. Grandpa did not move. He reached into his jacket, pulled out a thick envelope stamped with the foundation’s seal, and said, “Then let’s finish this where everyone who trusted you can hear.”