Ben inhaled slowly. “What do you need from us?”

Ramon exhaled in relief. “Anything you can provide. We need food on those tables in the next thirty minutes.”

“Say no more.”

We immediately began unloading what we had brought, calling back to the store for emergency platters. Jordan answered without hesitation—no questions, no hesitation. “We’re on it,” he said.

Then I felt it. Someone watching.

Claire stood across the room, flawless in an elegant gown, a champagne flute delicately balanced in her hand. Her smile looked fragile, forced, as if it might shatter at any moment. The instant she noticed Mom, her expression shifted—fear, irritation, calculation—each passing microsecond telling a story of someone suddenly aware they were no longer in control.

She walked directly toward us.

“What are you doing here?” she asked sharply, stopping in front of Ben as if he were part of the staff rather than family.

“This isn’t the time for your little stunt,” Ben said calmly.

“This isn’t the time for your little stunt,” she repeated, eyes flicking toward Mom, then snapping away.

I stepped in. “We’re here because your event is falling apart.”

Ramon appeared beside her, urgency threading his voice. “Claire, we need them.”

Claire forced a tight, artificial smile. “Fine. Then fix it. Immediately.”

She leaned close to Ben, voice lowered, sharp. “After this, we pretend yesterday never happened.”