Several board members from our company exchanged uneasy glances.
And for the first time all evening, my mother looked genuinely worried.
The problem with deception is that it works best when only one person knows the entire story.
Unfortunately for Sebastian, I knew all of it.
Three years earlier, when we became engaged, my grandfather had called me into his office overlooking the Hudson River.
Harold Bennett was seventy-eight years old, sharp as a razor blade, and worth more money than most people could comprehend.
He built Bennett Technologies from a two-person startup into one of the most respected cybersecurity firms in America.
He had also spent seventy-eight years learning how to recognize liars.
That afternoon he sat behind his desk watching Sebastian through the window as my fiancé spoke confidently with several executives outside.
“You love him,” Grandfather said.
“I do.”
He nodded slowly.
“Then I hope I’m wrong.”
The comment surprised me.
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