I slid the silver flash drive into the hotel laptop.
For the first time that night, Preston looked afraid.
Not angry.
Not offended.
Not publicly wounded in the careful way he performed whenever someone challenged him.
Afraid.
Daniel turned the laptop so the screen faced me.
The ballroom projector had been used earlier for photographs of the graduating class, but its display was now dark.
A cable rested beside the computer.
Preston noticed it.
“Daniel,” he said, recovering enough to use his commanding voice, “step away from that machine.”
Daniel did not move.
Preston’s eyes narrowed.
“I employ you.”
“No,” I said.
“The Whitmore family trust employs him.”
The words landed harder than his palm had landed on the table.
For years, Preston had allowed people to assume the hotel belonged to him.
He attended donor dinners, approved renovations, shook hands with investors, and posed beneath the Whitmore crest as if marrying me had rewritten his bloodline.
It had not.
My grandmother’s trust owned the hotel.
I held its controlling vote.
Preston had management authority because I had supported his appointment, not because he owned a single chandelier above us.
Sloane looked at him.
It was the first time all evening she seemed uncertain about where his power ended.
Preston lowered his voice.
“Claire, unplug it.”
I rested my fingers beside the drive.
“You told everyone I was emotional.
Let’s give them something less emotional than my word.”
Mia stood behind the chair that should have been hers.
Her bouquet was still pressed against her ribs, but her hands had stopped shaking.
“What’s on it?” she asked.
I turned toward her.
“Proof I hoped you would never have to see.”
Preston stepped around the table.
“This has gone far enough.”
Daniel moved between him and the laptop.
It was not dramatic.
He did not raise his hands or threaten anyone.
He simply occupied the space Preston needed.
That restraint made Preston look even more dangerous by comparison.
“Get out of my way,” Preston said.
Daniel’s expression remained professional.
“Mrs.
Hayes authorized the equipment use through the trust office.
I cannot interfere.”
“Mrs.
Hayes?” Preston repeated, almost laughing.
“She is having a breakdown in the middle of our daughter’s graduation.”
Mia finally placed her bouquet on the table.
“No,” she said.
“She isn’t.”
Every face turned toward her.
Preston softened his expression instantly.
“Mia, sweetheart, you’re overwhelmed.”
