We took Kelsey home with us that night. She didn't want to go to Mom and Dad's.

She sat at our kitchen table in a sweatshirt of mine, with her wedding makeup still on, holding a mug of tea she didn't drink.

Dan sat across from her.

“You knew,” said Kelsey. Her voice was flat. “For four months. You knew he was a fraud. And you didn't tell me.”

“I couldn't, Kels.”

“Why not?”

Dan took a deep breath.

“Because it's against the law,” he said. “When someone is being investigated, you can't warn them, or anyone who might warn them. If I'd told you, and you'd told Tristan, even by accident, he could have moved the money. Destroyed the evidence. Gotten on a plane. And three hundred families would never have seen a cent again.”

Kelsey stared at him.

“So you just let me marry him?”

“No,” said Dan quietly. “I asked the lawyers at work what I was allowed to do. They said I could give your dad general advice, the way anyone would. So I told him not to put in another dollar. And I told your sister to trust me.”

He looked down at the table.

“And every single night for four months, I lay awake hoping they'd arrest him before the wedding. They didn't. I'm sorry, Kels. I'm so sorry.”

Kelsey looked at him for a very long time.

Then she put her face in her hands and cried.