Chapter 5: The Woman with Connections
I knew three of my corporate clients personally.
The other two I knew well enough that a single phone call from someone with a grudge wouldn't move them.
But there was one account — a law firm in Midtown that had been using my catering service for eighteen months — where my contact had recently changed.
New events coordinator.
Someone I hadn't built a relationship with yet.
That was the one Victoria would go for.
If she was serious.
I spent Christmas morning making quiet calls.
Not to warn anyone — just to check in, wish people a happy holiday, remind them I existed.
Normal enough that nobody would think twice about it.
By noon I had spoken to four of the five accounts and felt reasonably steady.
The fifth one went to voicemail.
I left a warm message and tried not to think about it.
Ethan woke up at eleven, shuffled into the kitchen in his socks, and ate cereal standing at the counter because he claimed sitting down for breakfast was too much effort on a holiday.
I watched him and thought about what Rosalyn had told me.
About him asking, at twelve years old, whether something was wrong with him.
"Dad," he said, not looking up from his bowl.
"Are we going to Grandma and Grandpa's today?"
"I haven't decided yet."
He nodded slowly.
"Okay."
"Would you want to?"
He shrugged.
"I don't know.
It's Christmas.
It feels weird not to." He finally looked up.
"But I don't want to go back to Uncle Daniel's."
"We're not going to Uncle Daniel's."
"Okay." He went back to his cereal.
"Then yeah.
Grandma and Grandpa's would be fine."
We drove out to my parents' house in the early afternoon.
My father opened the door, looked at me for a moment, and then pulled me into a hug without saying anything.
He held on a beat longer than usual.
My mother was in the kitchen.
She came out when she heard us, and she looked at Ethan the way people look at someone when they've been carrying guilt about them — too direct, too careful, too aware.
"Ethan," she said.
"Come sit with me for a minute."
Ethan glanced at me.
I nodded.
They sat together at the kitchen table.
I stayed in the doorway.
My mother folded her hands on the table.
"I owe you an apology," she said.
"A real one.
Not an excuse."
Ethan waited.
"I knew that Victoria was asking you to eat separately at family dinners.
I knew for a long time.
And I didn't say anything because I was trying to keep the peace.
That was wrong.
You deserved better from me, and I'm sorry."
Ethan looked at his grandmother for a long moment.
"Did she tell you why?" he asked.
"She said different things at different times.
None of them were good reasons."
"Did you believe her?"
My mother's hands tightened slightly.
"I told myself I did.
I think I just didn't want the trouble."
Ethan nodded slowly.
He didn't look angry.
He looked like someone processing information they'd suspected for a long time but hadn't had confirmed.
"Okay," he said finally.
"Okay?" my mother repeated.
"I mean — I'm not okay with it.
But I believe you that you're sorry." He paused.
"I just want to know it won't happen again."
"It won't," she said.
"I promise you that."
My father appeared at my shoulder.
"Your brother called this morning," he said quietly, just to me.
"I know."
"He wants to talk."
"I'm sure he does."
"Mark." My father's voice was careful.
"He's still your brother."
"I know what he is," I said.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
A number I didn't recognize — not the same one as Rosalyn's the night before.
A Manhattan area code.
I stepped outside to answer it.
"Is this Mark Callahan?" A woman's voice.
Professional.
Clipped.
"It is."
"My name is Sandra Oates.
I'm the new events coordinator at Hargrove & Finch.
I received a call this morning from a Victoria Callahan, who said she was a former client of yours and wanted to share some concerns about your service."
My jaw tightened.
"What kind of concerns?"
"She said your food had caused a health incident at a recent event.
That you'd been unprofessional with guests.
And that she was considering filing a formal complaint with the city licensing board."
The street was quiet.
A neighbor's dog barked twice and stopped.
"Ms.
Oates," I said.
"I'd like to tell you exactly who Victoria Callahan is, and exactly what happened last night.
Would you be willing to hear it?"
A brief pause.
May you like
"That's why I called you directly instead of canceling," she said.
"Go ahead."
