You’re just back-office support, Clara, so you’ll stay in Chicago while the executive team flies to Rome, my boss, Julian Kincaid, told me before leaving for his sister's $1.4 million villa wedding.
I excused myself from the gardens and headed inside, needing a moment of peace. The powder room, adorned with fresh roses and polished marble, offered a brief respite from the increasingly fraught atmosphere.
As I refreshed my lipstick, the door swung open and Evelyn Kincaid swept in, her elaborate wedding gown rustling. Her usually cheerful face was tight with frustration.
“Clara, this is absolutely unacceptable!” she declared, her voice sharp and agitated. “Are you really going to ruin my wedding weekend over some minor workplace grievance?”
She stood beside me, her reflection glaring at mine in the mirror. Her expensive perfume was suddenly overwhelming.
“Julian is furious,” she continued, her voice rising. “The lenders are asking questions. This whole situation is completely unnecessary.”
“It’s not a grievance, Evelyn,” I replied, turning to face her. “It’s a matter of financial compliance.”
“Nonsense,” she scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. “It’s about you being petty because you weren’t invited. Fine! I’ll double your annual bonus. Double it. Just sign the trust authorization, get Julian’s funds released, and let us enjoy the rest of the night.”
She looked at me expectantly, as if an extra 20,000 euros was an irresistible offer.
“Thank you, Evelyn,” I said politely. “But I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Why not? You’re being ridiculous! This is my wedding, Clara. We spent 1.4 million euros on this event!”
I paused, then chose my words carefully. “Evelyn, your generous wedding budget, if I’m not mistaken, was drawn from the very same unsecured credit tranche that is currently under syndicate review.”
Her mouth opened slightly, then snapped shut. Her face, already flushed, paled considerably. The casual, lavish confidence she usually wore shattered. The implications of her party’s funding being tied to Julian’s impending disaster suddenly became very real to her.
She stared at me, not with anger, but with dawning panic. The roses on the vanity suddenly seemed too bright, too fragrant. The sound of distant laughter from the reception faded as the weight of the situation settled around us.
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