“How?” I asked, my voice coming out hoarse.
“Daniel inherited a stake in his father’s manufacturing company in 2003. He sold it quietly, invested aggressively, and kept everything out of public view. He did not want attention. He did not want Robert to know. Or Vanessa.”
Mr. Brennan hesitated, then said, “He told me, and I quote, ‘My son married a predator. If she finds out, she’ll drain him dry.’”
I could not breathe for a moment.
“Why didn’t he tell me?”
Mr. Brennan’s expression softened.
“He tried. Multiple times. He said you always refused to talk about money. You told him you didn’t care about those things, that you trusted him to handle it. So he handled it. And he protected you.”
I remembered.
God, I remembered.
Daniel trying to sit me down, pulling out statements, and me waving him off. Honey, I don’t need to see all that. You’ve always taken care of us.
I thought I was being supportive. Trusting. I thought love meant not asking questions.
I felt like a fool.
“The penthouse,” I said. “I didn’t even know we owned one.”
“He bought it eight years ago. Cash. He was planning to surprise you for your fortieth anniversary. Then he got sick.”
