Chapter 7: The Exit Strategy
As my parents and I approached the grand mahogany doors of the ballroom, we passed a table occupied by Callahan’s frat brothers and his younger brother, Jagger. A twenty-something kid with a bleached-blonde fade, Jagger was currently zipping two full bottles of the two-hundred-and-fifty-dollar reserve bourbon into his North Face backpack.
When he saw me looking, he didn’t flinch. He smirked, his eyes flashing with the exact same delusional entitlement as his mother.
“Well, well, look who’s running away,” Jagger sneered, loudly enough for the stragglers to hear. “Talked a big game, but at the end of the day, you’re just a stuck-up snob throwing a tantrum over some booze.”
The fire reignited in my chest. This entire bloodline was fundamentally diseased. I stepped right up to his table, my eyes locked onto his.
“Jagger, take those bottles out of your bag right now,” I ordered.
He scoffed, standing up to try and intimidate me with his height. “Make me. The booze is already on the tab. It belongs to us now. If you’re too broke to pay for it, my brother will. You just canceled the wedding, so kick rocks.”
I let out a harsh, cynical laugh. “You’re right. I canceled the wedding. But let me break it down for you, kid. Your brother and mother currently owe this hotel forty thousand dollars, and they don’t have a pot to piss in. Are you really trying to celebrate your family’s failed felony scam by committing grand larceny?”
I snapped my head toward Mr. Sterling, who was trailing closely behind me with his elite security team. “Manager, please verify what this specific table ordered to go.”
Sterling checked his tablet. “Yes, ma’am. This table requested three additional bottles of the reserve bourbon and five orders of lobster thermidor boxed up. They instructed the waiter to put it on your tab.”
I looked back at Jagger, my gaze absolute zero. “You look at me and see a walking ATM. But news flash: I am no longer the Bank of Callahan. I have zero legal obligation to subsidize a lazy, entitled frat boy.”
Jagger’s face flushed a violent red. He stepped forward aggressively, raising a hand as if to shove me. “Watch your mouth, you crazy—”
Before he could finish the slur, my father stepped smoothly between us, shielding me. With the booming, authoritative voice of a man who had spent thirty years commanding university lecture halls, he barked, “Boy, who exactly do you think you’re raising a hand to? Empty that backpack right this second, or I will personally have the police drag you out of here in handcuffs!”
Seeing my dad’s absolute fury, and the three burly hotel security guards closing in on his flanks, Jagger’s fake tough-guy act completely crumbled. Trembling with humiliation, he unzipped his backpack, yanked the bottles out, and slammed them onto the table.
I looked at him, then over at Callahan and Loretta, who were standing frozen in the center of the ballroom, surrounded by furious relatives. “This debt is your problem now. Welcome to the real world.”
I spun on my heel and walked out into the opulent lobby, the sharp click of my heels echoing with absolute finality.
Mr. Sterling jogged after me, dabbing his sweaty forehead. “Miss Delaney, please wait! You can’t just leave. The contract is in Loretta’s name, but you are the bride. You’re putting us in a terrible position.”
I stopped at the valet stand. “Relax, Sterling. I own a business. I am not leaving without settling my legitimate, ethical obligations. But my obligations are strictly limited to what I verbally agreed to.”
I pulled out my phone and opened the calculator app. “My original agreement was for fifty guests. Five tables. Based on your standard package, that comes out to about seven thousand dollars total, correct?”
Sterling did the math rapidly and nodded. “Yes. Without the lobster, Wagyu, bourbon, and the extra one hundred and thirty people, it would be exactly seven thousand.”
“Perfect,” I said smoothly. “Loretta already gave you three thousand in cash. That leaves a four-thousand-dollar deficit on the baseline plan. I will pay that right now.”
I tapped my corporate card to his mobile terminal. A receipt for four thousand dollars printed out.
“I have now completely and honestly fulfilled my financial obligation for my specific guests,” I declared. “As for the remaining thirty-three thousand dollars? That was unilaterally demanded by Loretta. Her signature is on your work order. I advise you to lock the ballroom doors and call the Chicago Police Department. If she refuses to pay, have her arrested for theft of services. I will gladly testify that she embezzled my funds.”
Sterling looked at the approved receipt, sighed in massive relief, and nodded grimly. He knew I held the absolute legal high ground. “Understood completely, Miss Delaney. We will handle the balance with Miss Loretta.”
I got into my father’s car. As we pulled away from the hotel, I rolled down the window. The crisp, Chicago evening air hit my face. It felt like walking out of a damp, suffocating cave.
Just as we turned the corner, the unmistakable wail of police sirens pierced the night, heading straight for The Obsidian Grand.
