“You did.”
“When?”
He hesitated.
Louise scrolled farther.
The approval email contained an attachment titled with the fundraiser date.
The file history showed that the signature image had been copied from a hospice consent form stored in a shared household folder.
I remembered signing that form at our kitchen table.
Preston had scanned it for me because my mother’s hands were too weak to hold a pen and I was rushing back to the hospital.
The forged message used the same signature, down to a small streak where the pen had caught on the paper.
Preston’s voice sharpened.
“This is getting ridiculous.
The email simply said Celeste should be recognized for the sake of unity.
That was the intention, whether Mara remembers writing it or not.”
Louise stopped scrolling.
I looked at him.
“What did you say?”
He frowned.
“I said this is ridiculous.”
“No.
The other part.”
He said nothing.
Louise turned the screen slightly toward herself.
The message had not been read aloud.
I had only glanced at the opening lines before noticing the time stamp.
Yet Preston had quoted its central sentence almost word for word.
For the sake of unity, Celeste Monroe should be recognized as Guest of Honor.
Louise asked, “How did you know the wording?”
Preston looked at the laptop, then at the door.
“Mara showed it to me.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“She must have.”
A knock sounded.
Before anyone answered, Patricia opened the door and stepped inside.
Celeste stood behind her, still wearing the sash.
“There you are,” Patricia said to Preston.
“People are asking questions.”
Then she saw the blue folder.
Her smile vanished.
Celeste looked from the folder to the laptop.
“What is happening?”
Preston spoke before either Louise or I could answer.
“Mara is confused about an email she sent.”
“I did not send it,” I said.
Patricia exhaled like a disappointed teacher.
“Mara, this is exactly what we were trying to avoid.
You approved Celeste because you knew you were not emotionally able to participate tonight.”
“Did you see me approve it?”
Patricia folded her arms.
“Preston told me.”
I turned to Celeste.
“Did you see the approval?”
She looked at Preston.
He gave her a small warning shake of his head.
It was subtle, but all four of us saw it.
Celeste’s fingers tightened around the edge of the sash.
“He showed me an email,” she said.
