Chapter 3: The Call Nobody Saw Coming
Julian stood in my doorway for another ten seconds.
His mouth opened.
Closed.
He looked down at his phone again, as if the message from Cedar Grove might have changed.
It hadn't.
"Call them back," he said.
"Tell them it was a mistake."
"It wasn't."
"You're going to ruin everything." His voice cracked at the edge.
"The flowers are already at the venue.
The band is setting up.
Chloe's dress is—"
"Julian." I kept my voice level.
"You texted me 'Goodbye, loser' six hours ago.
In the family group chat.
In front of everyone."
He had the decency to look away.
"That was Chloe's idea," he said.
"She didn't want any tension on the day.
She thought if you weren't there—"
"Stop." I held up one hand.
"Don't tell me whose idea it was.
You sent it.
Dad liked it.
That's what happened."
He shifted his weight.
"So what, you're going to cancel a $110,000 wedding because your feelings got hurt?"
I looked at him for a long moment.
"I'm not canceling anything," I said.
He blinked.
"Then what—"
"I transferred the contracts."
The silence that followed was the loudest thing I had heard all day.
Julian's jaw tightened.
"You transferred them to who?"
"Someone who can manage them without me."
"That's not an answer."
"No," I agreed.
"It isn't."
He stepped closer.
His voice dropped, the way it always did when he wanted to sound like the reasonable one.
"Listen.
I know today was handled badly.
I'll talk to Dad.
We'll figure out the guest list situation.
But right now I need you to fix this.
You're the only one who can."
That was the part that almost got me.
Not the apology — there wasn't one.
But the old reflex.
The one that had been trained into me since childhood.
Julian needs something.
You're the capable one.
You fix it.
I picked up my jacket from the chair.
"The person I transferred the contracts to," I said, "is Marcus Webb."
Julian went completely still.
Marcus Webb was not a family friend.
He was not a vendor coordinator or a wedding planner.
He was the attorney who had handled my company's contract disputes for eleven years.
He was also the person I had called that morning, ninety seconds after I typed "Fine" into the family group chat.
Julian knew the name.
He knew it because two years ago, when Julian had tried to get me to co-sign a business loan under terms I refused, Marcus was the one who had reviewed the paperwork and sent Julian a two-page letter explaining exactly why I would not be signing.
Julian had never forgiven either of us for that.
"Why," Julian said slowly, "is Marcus Webb involved in my wedding contracts?"
"Because I asked him to be."
"What does that mean?
What is he doing?"
I opened the front door.
The evening air came in, cool and quiet.
"He's reviewing them," I said.
"All of them.
The venue agreement.
The catering deposit.
The florist invoice.
The photographer contract.
The crystal rental.
Everything with my name on it."
Julian's face had gone from pale to something closer to gray.
"Reviewing them for what?"
I looked at my brother — really looked at him — for what felt like the first time in years.
Not with anger.
Not with hurt.
Just with the clear, steady recognition of who he actually was.
"For anything that needs to be corrected," I said.
"Good night, Julian."
I closed the door.
He knocked three more times.
Then he stopped.
I heard his footsteps on the stairs, fast and uneven, the way they always were when he was scared.
My phone buzzed.
Not Julian this time.
Marcus.
*Finished the first pass.
You need to see this.
Call me when you can.*
I sat down on the couch and stared at those two sentences for a long moment.
May you like
Marcus was not a man who used the phrase "you need to see this" lightly.
I called him back.
