Chapter 3 - The First Crack in the Facade
The banquet hall hummed with energy as the string quartet began playing a soft melody, transitioning into the live mariachi band that my mother had insisted was essential for setting an “authentic festive mood.”
My father stood up, tapping a silver spoon against his water glass. The sound echoed through the microphone system.
“Welcome, family and honored guests!” my father boomed, his chest puffed out under his tailored suit jacket. “We are gathered here today to celebrate seventy magnificent years of life, grace, and wisdom embodied by my wonderful wife, Joyce. Look around you! Look at this gorgeous hall, the magnificent food, the open bar waiting to flow, and the joy in this room. And I want to give a very special, public thank you to my hardworking son, Kenneth, who sponsored this entire magnificent evening out of love and filial duty. Let’s give Kenneth a round of applause!”
A smattering of polite applause rippled through the room. Brenda and her husband clapped lazily, more focused on inspecting the silverware than looking in our direction. My mother beamed, waving regally from her seat at the center table, basking in the spotlight.
Across the room, beside the massive potted Ficus tree, Emily and Noah sat quietly. Noah was leaning his head against Sarah’s shoulder. I didn’t clap. I just sat back in my chair, folding my hands over my chest.
“Kenneth, stand up and take a bow!” my father urged, gesturing with his hand.
I remained seated. I didn’t move an inch. A few murmurs broke out near the front tables. Brenda frowned, whispering something into our mother’s ear.
My father’s smile tightened at the edges. He cleared his throat, lowered the microphone slightly, and muttered under his breath before wrapping up his speech with a forced laugh. “Well, our Kenneth has always been a modest, quiet boy! Let the festivities begin!”
The guests began rising from their tables to head toward the buffet stations and the bar.
Brenda’s husband, Greg, was the first to reach the bar area. He threw his arm around the bartender’s shoulder, flashing a wide, confident grin. “Hey, buddy! Pour me a double whiskey on the rocks, top-shelf. And get my wife a glass of that imported Chilean red wine.”
The bartender, a young woman with a nametag reading Chloe, looked at Greg blankly. She checked her service clipboard.
“Sir, the top-shelf liquor and imported wine selections have been removed from the package for this event. We only have house red, house white, domestic beer, and soft drinks available tonight.”
Greg’s smile faltered. He let out a loud, incredulous laugh. “Are you kidding me? Do you know who we are? We’re the family of honor! My brother-in-law Kenneth paid nearly thirty thousand dollars for this party. There’s an open bar—look at the contract on the coordinator's desk!”
Chloe didn’t blink. “I’m sorry, sir. The contract was modified thirty minutes ago by the primary account holder, Mr. Kenneth Miller. All premium beverage options have been deactivated. House wine or soda is what we have.”
Greg’s face flushed red. He spun around, scanning the room frantically until his eyes locked onto me sitting by the potted plants.
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At that exact moment, Brenda hurried over from the main table, her heels clicking sharply against the polished marble floor. Her expression was furious.
“Kenneth!” Brenda hissed, marching straight up to our table. “What in the world is Greg talking about? The bartender says there’s no top-shelf alcohol! She tried to hand him a cheap glass of house wine like we’re at a roadside diner! What did you do?”
