“Whatever. Enjoy your cold toast.” Cleo tossed her hair and marched back toward the party. Behind the ice maker, I stepped into the shadows, pulling my smartphone from my breast pocket. My fingers flew across the keyboard as I dialed my lead corporate attorney, Toto Valli.
I also called the managing partner of the forensic auditing firm that handled my commercial accounts. “Toto,” I whispered into the receiver, my voice dead and lethal. “Wake up your senior partners. Bring two armed security officers, the original deed to the Buckhead estate, and our trust registration certificates.”
“Be outside my front gates tomorrow at seven-forty-five sharp.” At eight o’clock the following morning, sunlight poured through the floor-to-ceiling arched windows of the grand dining hall, illuminating an opulent feast fit for European royalty. The sixteen-seat Brazilian mahogany table groaned under the weight of silver chafing dishes.
Scrambled farm eggs, smoked salmon, applewood bacon, Belgian waffles, and fresh bowls of fruit filled the table. Sterling silver cutlery gleamed against crisp white damask tablecloths. Crystal pitchers of freshly squeezed mimosas sat chilled in ice buckets.
Seated at the head of the table in a regal gold brocade jacket was Cora Valli. To her right sat Cleo, dressed in the custom emerald-green silk dress that Vita had purchased for our baby’s impending gender reveal celebration. Uncle Rob, Aunt Beth, and two distant cousins from North Carolina sat around them.
My mother’s longtime bridge partner was also present. “A toast to family unity,” Uncle Rob boomed, raising his champagne flute. “To Marc’s soaring architectural genius in London, and to Cora for holding the family fortress together with such elegance!” “Hear, hear!” Aunt Beth chimed in, smiling warmly.
“Cora, you’ve done a magnificent job managing the staff. But where is dear Vita? We haven’t seen her since we arrived yesterday afternoon. Isn’t she seven months along now?” Cora waved her diamond-encrusted hand with casual dismissiveness.
“Oh, you know how these modern girls are, Beth. Vita has been rather delicate and moody. She prefers to keep to herself in the servant quarters until her nausea passes. She lacks the stamina for formal family breakfast.” Before anyone could process that shocking statement, the swinging double doors from the pantry pushed open.
