The Cost of Ivory

I stared at the laptop screen until the image blurred.

The forged document burned itself into my memory. The signature was a near-perfect replica of my own, right down to the slight drag of the 't' in Prescott. But I hadn't signed it. I hadn’t signed anything transferring my assets to Florence Fairmont.

Beside me, little Leo tugged at my suit jacket.

“Grandpa, my tummy hurts,” he mumbled, looking at the floor.

I closed the laptop and slipped the USB drive back into my pocket. My hands were shaking, not from age, but from a cold, rising fury. I pulled Leo into my arms, resting his small head against my shoulder.

“I know, buddy. I’ve got you,” I whispered into his hair.

The door to the business lounge didn't knock. It simply swung open.

Florence stood in the doorway.

Her ivory gown caught the dim light of the room. She looked flawless. Two years of my life had been spent looking at that smile, believing it was the anchor to my twilight years. Now, it looked like a mask slipping from its edges.

“Jonathan, darling,” she purred, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. “The string quartet is starting. We have five minutes. What are you doing in here with the ring bearer?”

She stepped into the room. As she moved, the light caught something resting against her collarbone.

A heavy, vintage gold chain holding a square-cut emerald clasp.

My breath caught in my throat.

That necklace belonged to my late wife, Margaret. I had locked it in our family’s safety deposit box three years ago. It was meant to be given to Christina on her fortieth birthday. There was only one key to that box, and I kept it in my study.

“That necklace,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “Where did you get it?”

Florence touched the emerald gently, her smile faltering for only a fraction of a second. “Oh, this? I found it in my bridal gift box this morning. I assumed it was a wedding day surprise from you.”

A lie. A fluid, effortless lie.

She took another step toward us, her eyes shifting to Leo. “Come here, Leo. Let’s get you lined up. Your mommy wouldn’t want you ruining Grandpa’s big day.”

Leo buried his face into my neck and whimpered.

“He’s not going with you,” I said. I stood up, keeping Leo tight against my chest. “And neither am I. The wedding is off.”

Florence froze. The mask finally dropped. Her features hardened into something sharp and unrecognizable. “Jonathan, you’re stressed. Don’t do this to me in front of two hundred people.”

“Tell them whatever you want,” I said, walking past her.

“If you walk out that door, Jonathan, I won’t be here when you get back,” she threatened, her voice dropping an octave.

“That is exactly what I’m counting on.”

I didn't look back. I carried Leo out a side exit, bypassing the ballroom entirely. The crisp evening air hit my face as I reached the valet. I pulled out my phone and dialed Aunt Rebecca, my late wife’s sister, the woman Leo claimed his mother was with.

It rang four times before she answered.

“Jonathan? Shouldn’t you be at the altar?” Rebecca asked.

“Is Christina with you?” I demanded.

Silence hung on the line. “Christina? No. Jonathan, I haven’t seen her since last week. Why? What’s wrong?”

My blood ran like ice water. Leo hadn’t lied, but he had been misinformed. Christina had told her son she was going to Aunt Rebecca’s to keep him calm.

“Rebecca, if she calls, tell me immediately.” I hung up and looked down at my grandson.

Leo was holding something tight in his small fist. I gently pried his fingers open. It was a torn piece of thick, textured paper. A baggage claim ticket for a flight out of JFK Airport.