I was wiping the entry table when the doorbell rang. The man on the step looked past me as if I were part of the furniture. He introduced himself as David, Greg’s business partner, and asked if Mrs. Lambert was home. That name did not belong in my house. My last name was not Lambert. I was wearing old jeans and holding a dust cloth, so I let him keep the mistake. I said she was out and asked what he needed. He relaxed, pulled out his phone, and showed me photographs from a dinner I had never attended. The woman on Greg’s arm was my sister, Allison. In every picture she wore a ring that looked like mine. David called her Mrs. Lambert as if the title had always been hers.

I kept my face still and let him talk. He had come to buy Greg’s share of the company. The paperwork, he said, listed Mrs. Lambert as the legal owner. I understood then what the two of them had done. They had used my name, or a version of it close enough to pass, to hold the business while Allison played wife in rooms I was never invited to. I did not shout. I did not correct him. I told David I could help him reach a decision quickly if he brought the documents the next day. He left believing he had spoken to the housekeeper. I closed the door and stood in the hall until my hands stopped shaking.