Only the wedding contracts mattered.
I placed them on the table one at a time.
The château.
The food.
The flowers.
The music.
The dress.
My signature beneath every agreement.
Jean-Luc’s mother read without speaking.
“How much?” she asked finally.
“About one hundred and fifty thousand dollars was committed.
More than one hundred thousand in pending payments was still recoverable when I canceled.”
She leaned back.
Whatever she had expected, it had not been that.
“We were told this wedding represented what they had built together.”
I nodded.
“It represented something I sold a piece of retirement land to pay for.”
The door opened behind me.
Madison stood there.
Jean-Luc was beside her.
My daughter looked beautiful even angry.
Perfect coat, perfect hair, perfect posture.
She had always known how to make a room see what she wanted it to see.
For once, the room already knew too much.
“Dad,” she said.
She looked at the folder.
Then at Jean-Luc’s mother.
Her face changed.
“What are you doing?”
I closed the folder.
“Talking.”
“About private financial matters?”
Jean-Luc’s mother answered before I could.
“Apparently they were only private from us.”
Jean-Luc stepped forward.
“This is getting out of control.”
I recognized his voice immediately.
It was the same voice that had floated through Madison’s phone in Chicago.
Tell him the champagne vendor is waiting too.
“Did you know I was paying?” I asked him.
His eyes flicked toward Madison.
That glance was enough.
“Of course he knew,” Madison said quickly.
“Dad, this isn’t some conspiracy.
You offered to help.”
“I did.”
“Then why are you acting like we stole from you?”
“I’m not.
You didn’t steal it.
I gave it.”
She seemed surprised by the answer.
I continued.
“But I gave it believing I was paying for my daughter’s wedding.
I didn’t agree to finance a story in which I had to disappear.”
Jean-Luc rubbed a hand across his jaw.
“This could have been handled privately.”
