Chapter 2 - The Setup and the Red Flags
The day before Thanksgiving, Grandma Opal called. Her voice was steady and sharp. “You’re coming tomorrow,” she commanded. When I confirmed I would be there, she added, “Good. I need you there.”
At eighty-seven, Opal had never claimed to need physical assistance surviving one of my mother’s suffocating holiday productions. Sensing a hidden current, I asked if she was alright. She brushed the concern aside with characteristic stubbornness and abruptly changed the subject to winter frost forecasts.
That afternoon back at the shop, Talia flagged an urgent risk assessment report regarding one of our largest logistics clients: Larkfield Home Goods. The data was alarming. Larkfield’s shipping invoices were more than ninety days overdue, and the company had severely missed its volume commitments for two consecutive quarters. Our corporate risk analysts strongly recommended terminating their logistics contract effective January first to avoid mounting bad debt. The name at the top of Larkfield’s corporate restructure filing was glaringly prominent: Skyler Ashford Hayes, Chief Executive Officer.
I dialed Talia immediately. “Hold off on the termination notice until further notice,” I instructed. “I want to investigate what Skyler knows about these accounts before we pull the plug.”
By six o'clock on Thanksgiving evening, my mother’s house looked like a set designer had violently thrown an upscale home goods catalog against every wall. As I stepped through the front door wearing my everyday wool coat and sturdy boots, Mom’s eyes swept over me with visible disdain, noting aloud that I could have made a reasonable effort to look presentable. Fourteen place cards were meticulously arranged around the dining table, each featuring the guest's name and corporate title. Mine simply read Wendy, floating alone without embellishment. I picked up my place card, set it back down on the sideboard, and walked over to greet Grandma Opal.
Near the marble fireplace, my mother introduced me to Harlan Voss, the distinguished, silver-haired chairman of Larkfield Home Goods’ board of directors. I recognized him instantly from a high-stakes financing summit in Charlotte two years earlier, though it took him a beat to place my face outside a corporate boardroom. Mom eagerly filled the awkward silence by loudly recounting Skyler’s corporate ascension. An aunt chimed in, asking whether I was still “doing that little flower hobby,” squeezing my arm with cloying pity as if my boutique were a terminal illness.
Mom tapped her crystal water glass with a fork just before dinner was served, formally announcing Skyler’s $280,000 executive salary. The dining room erupted into enthusiastic applause. Then, turning her smile toward me like a spotlight of humiliation, she added, “And Wendy is still with her little flower shop. We keep hoping she’ll find her path.”
A few polite guests chuckled uncertainly, unsure whether the remark was a cruel joke or family lore. Chairman Voss, however, did not laugh. He looked sharply from my mother to me, his brow furrowing in sudden cognitive dissonance.
He cornered me later near the mahogany bar cart while guests loaded their plates. “Larkfield’s supply chain is heavily dependent on Ashford Freight,” Voss murmured, swirling his scotch. “The financial trade papers have a very specific, legendary name for its elusive majority owner.”
“Do they?” I asked calmly, pouring myself a glass of sparkling water.
May you like
He opened his mouth to reply, but my mother materialized at his elbow like a homing missile, whisking him away to meet a local real estate developer. Before leaving, she dispatched me to the kitchen to retrieve the forgotten sweet potato casserole.
In the quiet kitchen, a cream-colored gift box sat neatly beneath a decorative side table. A handwritten tag read: To Wendy, your future starts here. Peeking from beneath the lid was a formal employment contract for the $38,000 assistant position. From the adjacent dining room, I overheard my mother coaching Skyler on timing: “Wait until everyone is seated and watching, sweetheart. Make sure she understands this is her lifeline.”
