Process servers.
The doors opened.
One of them walked forward and handed me a sealed envelope.
Celeste’s smile widened.
Inside was a petition declaring me mentally incompetent, signed by Ethan, requesting emergency control of my estate.
The humiliation was deliberate. Celeste had chosen the wedding because no judge could ignore a room full of guests who had watched me look shocked, silent, and supposedly unstable. But thirty years of negotiating hostile takeovers had taught me one rule: never react on your enemy’s schedule.
My son stared at the signature and whispered, “That’s not mine.”
Across the room, Vanessa raised her champagne.
She thought she had already won.
I folded the papers, placed them in my jacket, and smiled back.
She had targeted the wrong father.
PART 2
I returned to the head table as if the petition were nothing more than a misplaced dinner menu.