Chapter 6 - The Wedding Bill
Anger is a bad driver.
So I didn’t let it drive.
I called Martin.
Then I called the venue manager, Carol.
She had worked for me for seven years and had no idea the property belonged to my trust.
Most people didn’t.
“Carol,” I said, “I need a full accounting of Sabrina’s wedding.”
She hesitated.
“Everything okay?”
“No.”
That was enough.
Two hours later, she emailed me the records.
I sat at the kitchen table and read every invoice.
Catering: $8,700.
Flowers: $4,400.
Photography: $3,200.
DJ: $1,800.
Decor: $5,900.
Additional “family hospitality package”: $9,750.
I frowned.
I called Carol.
“What is the hospitality package?”
She was quiet.
“Mr. Fletcher, I thought you approved that.”
“I’m asking what it is.”
“Three luxury suites at the Riverside Hotel. Private car service. A rehearsal dinner upgrade. Champagne.”
“For who?”
“Sabrina said it was for the groom’s family.”
I looked at the spreadsheet.
“Who signed?”
“She did.”
“Using whose authorization?”
Another pause.
“Yours.”
I closed my eyes.
“Send me the form.”
She did.
My signature.
Again.
Forged.
But this one was sloppy.
I called Martin.
“They forged another approval.”
“How much?”
“Almost ten grand.”
“We add it to the file.”
“The wedding is tomorrow.”
“I know.”
“Can I cancel it?”
Silence.
“Yes.”
That answer surprised me.
“Legally?”
“You control the venue.”
“What about vendors?”
“You could be liable for certain contracts.”
“I’ll pay them.”
“You already did.”
I looked at the ruined suit beside me.
“Then maybe I should cancel.”
Martin was careful.
“Do you want to punish Sabrina or protect yourself?”
The question hurt.
“I don’t know.”
“Figure that out before you do anything irreversible.”
I hated him for being right.
At 4:00 p.m., Sabrina came home.
She walked into the kitchen like she still lived there.
“Where’s Mom?”
“I don’t know.”
She froze.
“You don’t know?”
“She took luggage.”
Sabrina’s face changed.
Just a flash.
Fear.
Then she covered it.
“She’s probably staying at the hotel.”
“Probably.”
I leaned back.
“How’s Raymond?”
“Fine.”
“Title company go well?”
Her face drained.
There it was.
Truth.
Pure and immediate.
“What?”
“I asked how the title company went.”
She stared at me.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you do.”
She grabbed her purse.
“I have to go.”
“Sabrina.”
She stopped.
For a second, she looked five years old again.
Then I said the one thing I had been trying not to say.
“Why?”
Her shoulders dropped.
She didn’t turn around.
“Why what?”
“Why are you doing this to me?”
Silence.
Then she whispered, “You don’t understand.”
“So explain it.”
She turned.
Her eyes were wet.
“Dad—”
The word hit me.
Dad.
Not Frank.
Dad.
“Raymond said—”
A car horn blasted outside.
She looked through the window.
Raymond.
Of course.
“Sabrina, stay.”
“I can’t.”
“You can.”
“No, I can’t.”
“Is he threatening you?”
Her face shut down.
That answer was enough.
I stepped toward her.
She backed away.
“Don’t.”
“I’m trying to help you.”
“You can’t.”
“Why?”
She started crying.
Not loudly.
The silent kind.
The kind she had when she was a kid and didn’t want me to know she was scared.
Then she said, “Because Mom already gave him something she can’t get back.”
My heart pounded.
“What?”
Sabrina looked toward Raymond’s car.
May you like
Then back at me.
“Your life insurance policy.”
