PART 2: Three weeks after my midnight-blue Versace dress vanished from my closet

Every politician.
Every member of old-money Manhattan society sitting in those pews.

Grant reached for my arm.

“Please,” he whispered. “We can talk privately.”

I stepped back before he could touch me.

That’s when my father’s attorney rose slowly from the second row.

Harold Bennett.

Seventy-two years old.
Silver-haired.
Precise.
Loyal to my father for over three continue reading …