shifted to Dad.
“It came from a client.”
His expression altered.
“What client?”
“A company called Bellweather Hospitality.”
The company meant nothing to me.
“They commissioned furniture restoration from Derek,” Inez continued her explanation. “If the invoices are legitimate, it’s the largest contract he’s ever had.”
Mom stared wide-eyed.
“How large?”
“Potentially enough to repay everything he took from the household account.”
Bellweather’s possible payment complicated matters without excusing Derek. Dad took me unannounced to a rented shop behind the antique district near the railway. Twelve chairs stood in a row, a carved sideboard under lamps and cabinet doors on padded tables. Derek worked among them with a dust mask at his neck, sawdust on his shirt and Dad’s old hand plane in his hands. Seeing us, he set it down. ChooseFurniture
“So you came.”
“I came three days ago.”
His expression hardened.
“You saw the house.”
“Yes.”
He looked
