My former business partner is angry because I left.”
The private investigator who had delivered the envelope remained near the wall.
At Savannah’s nod, he spoke.
“The complaint includes bank records, investor transfers, and signed financial statements.
Ms.
Dixon represented that her company held assets it did not own and revenue it had not earned.”
Evan pulled his arm free.
Kimberly’s voice sharpened.
“Savannah hired him because she wanted to destroy me.”
“I hired him because you said you were finished if this party failed,” Savannah replied.
“I needed to know what you expected me to hide.”
The investigator placed another copy of the complaint on the table.
“The plaintiffs allege that money intended for a boutique expansion was used for personal rent, travel, and jewelry.”
Every eye in the room moved to Kimberly’s ring.
She covered it with her other hand.
Evan’s mother stood.
“Was our family name included in any of your investor materials?”
Kimberly said nothing.
That silence answered her.
Evan removed the champagne flute from Kimberly’s hand before it slipped.
Then he placed the velvet ring box, which had been waiting beside his plate, inside his jacket.
“There will be no announcement tonight,” he said.
Kimberly stared at him.
“You cannot leave me over paperwork.”
“I am leaving because you used my family’s reputation to attract investors before we were even engaged.”
She looked at Harold.
“Do something.”
For years, that command had been enough.
Harold had paid fees, called friends, corrected stories, and demanded that Savannah sacrifice whatever was necessary to keep Kimberly comfortable.
This time, he had nothing left to offer.
The money from his retirement account had already paid Savannah’s legitimate event fee.
The private loan had triggered the loss of the house.
The bounced hotel check had traveled through local gossip.
The people he hoped to impress were watching him stand powerless beneath a photograph of the home he no longer owned.
He turned on Savannah instead.
“You took fifty thousand dollars knowing you planned this.”
“I took a non-refundable management fee and delivered every service in the contract,” she said.
“The flowers arrived.
The musicians played.
Dinner was served.
Your anniversary was spectacular.”
A few guests looked down, hiding uncomfortable smiles.
Harold’s voice rose.
“You used our own money to shame us.”
“No.
I used my company’s money to perform the work you hired me to do.
You provided the truth for free.”
Patricia sank into her chair.
For the first time that evening, she stopped looking at the guests and looked directly at Savannah.
“Are you putting us out tonight?”
The question changed the air in the room.
Savannah had imagined this moment during the flight from California.
In some versions, she had handed her parents an immediate eviction notice.
In others, she had sold the property before dessert.
Each fantasy had offered a few seconds of satisfaction.
None had felt like her.
She opened the briefcase again and removed a prepared occupancy agreement.
“You have thirty days to leave,” she said.
“During that time, you may take your personal belongings.
You may not remove fixtures, damage the property, or enter any new agreement involving the house.”
Harold laughed bitterly.
“Thirty days.
After everything we did for you.”
Savannah met his eyes.
“You gave me a room, food, and a
