David removed the first document. “This hotel,” he said, “is owned by Hughes Property Holdings. The sole owner of Hughes Property Holdings is Mrs. Eleanor Hughes.” He looked at me. “Your mother.”
A murmur ran through the guests. Megan’s face went white.
David continued. “Mrs. Hughes did not merely pay for the floral arch. She approved this venue at no charge to the wedding party, as she does for all family events held in her properties.”
He removed a second document. “The two-bedroom apartment Ms. Megan demanded tonight — the one with the skyline view — is unit 14B. It is one of forty-seven residential units owned by Mrs. Hughes in this city. She has lived there for twenty-two years because she chooses to, not because she must.”
Megan’s father had gone gray. He knew what David would say next.
“And,” David said, turning to Megan’s father, “the commercial lease for Harbor Import Group — currently four months in arrears — is held by the same company. Mrs. Hughes instructed me this morning to begin eviction proceedings on Monday, unless alternative arrangements are made.”
The ballroom erupted. Megan’s mother grabbed her husband’s arm. Brandon stood frozen, his drink forgotten in his hand.
But David wasn’t finished. He removed a third envelope and handed it directly to Brandon.
“Your father left you a letter, Mr. Hughes. He asked me to deliver it only if your mother was ever humiliated in his absence. She asked me to wait until tonight to decide.”
Brandon’s hands shook as he opened it. I knew what it said. William had read it to me once, years ago, when we discussed what kind of man our son might become.