“You’re thirty years old, Sarah,” Derek said, his heel tapping faster.

“You don’t need an audience to march across a field in a pressed suit.”

“Did you ask her to put your deposit ahead of my ceremony?”

“I asked her to support the family member who actually has financial upside,” he said.

“I have to get to my desk.”

The line went dead before I could answer.

I put the phone in the cup holder and stared at the granite archway of the main gate.

By two in the afternoon, the grass on the parade field was cut to two crisp inches and smelled sweet in the full sun.