And now his son had just told a room full of the board’s social circle that he’d been scheming to take them.

Chapter 7 — Leave the Microphone On

“Cut his mic!” Joe barked toward the AV booth at the back of the room.

“Cut it now!”

The technician, a young man who had signed on to run sound for a birthday party and not to referee the public detonation of a marriage, hesitated with his hand over the board, looking from Joe to the small boy on the stage, plainly unsure whose side the right side was.

And in that hesitation, the doors at the back of the ballroom opened again, and my father came in, leaning on his cane, having driven in from out of state with my mother to surprise me — they had not known, none of us had known, what kind of night they were walking into.