Part 2
Oscar Bell’s office sat on the twenty-third floor of a steel-and-glass tower in downtown Seattle, high enough that the city below looked polished and harmless. By nine o’clock Monday morning, the rain had stopped, leaving the streets silver and shining beneath a flat gray sky.
Oscar was waiting when I arrived.
He was in his late forties, precise, careful, and almost impossible to rattle. But when he saw my face, he did not offer coffee or small talk. He simply nodded toward the conference room.
“I read the email,” he said.
“That makes one of us,” I replied. “I think I stopped reading it as a sister halfway through and started reading it as a mother.”
On the long walnut table, Oscar had arranged every contract connected to Rhonda’s wedding. Venue guarantee. Catering agreement. Floral installment plan. Lighting deposit. Entertainment contract. Premium bar package. Cake balance. Security hold. Hotel room block.
My money was everywhere.
Hidden, protected, quietly powering every elegant lie.
Oscar tapped the top folder. “You understand what happens if we withdraw the guarantees?”
“I do.”
“The hotel can suspend services immediately unless another valid payment method is provided.”
“I know.”
“Some deposits are nonrefundable.”
“I don’t care.”
“Your family will likely blame you.”
I looked out at the city, at the wet rooftops and traffic moving like blood through the streets. “They already blame me for everything. At least this time they’ll be right about the money.”
He watched me for a long second. “And you want this effective Saturday morning?”
“At dawn.”
“That gives them almost no time to recover.”
“That’s the point.”
The words came out steady, but my hands were cold beneath the table. I was not cruel by nature. Cruel people enjoy suffering. I did not want chaos because it entertained me. I wanted consequence because nothing else had ever reached them.
