At my sister’s wedding reception, my mother demanded I sign over the penthouse my grandmother left me—and when I refused, she slapped me in front of half of Boston. She thought that would finish me. Then my grandmother walked in with a lawyer.

“Not everything,” he said. “Only what she trusted someone to use properly.”

He let that rest between us a moment.

“The first board chair called ten minutes ago. They would like a statement. I told them you would respond after noon.”

“You assumed I was going to say yes?”

“I assumed Mrs. Harrison raised you too well to let your mother stroll into a governance vacuum.”

It was difficult not to laugh.

“And Madison?” I asked.

Marcus’s voice cooled another degree. “Tyler moved to the Lenox for the time being. Their attorney requested copies of the reception incident materials at eight-fifteen.”

“Their attorney?”

“Annulment is often more efficient than divorce when deception predates the vows.”

I closed my eyes. I had thought on Saturday night that the marriage might not survive the cake. I had not expected it to begin unraveling by breakfast the next morning.