I retreated to my pillar. I watched my father intercept Michael before he could reach the head table, grip his arm, and steer him toward a private dining room off the main floor.

Richard Vance and his bodyguard followed.

They were springing the trap.

I moved through the crowd and slipped into the hallway bordering the private room. The door was slightly ajar. I set myself in the blind spot and listened.

“I don’t understand, Dad,” Michael’s voice drifted through the crack, confused and rising toward panic. “Why do I have to sign this now? It’s my wedding night.”

“Because if you don’t sign now, we won’t have a company by Monday,” my father snapped. “Mr. Vance is offering a lifeline. He’s taking a controlling interest in the logistics network.