I took a seat in the plush leather chair opposite his massive mahogany desk and deliberately set my heavy purse on the carpeted floor. When I finally spoke, my voice was dead steady—almost unnervingly so.
“I need to stop a wire transfer.”
He blinked in surprise, his graying brow furrowing slightly behind his wire-rimmed glasses.
“The one scheduled for the Napa Valley events venue?”
“Yes, that’s the exact one,” I confirmed.
Mr. Henderson hesitated for a fraction of a second, his fingers tapping a rapid rhythm across his computer keyboard.
“There might be a standard cancellation fee attached to this, depending on the exact timing… but may I ask the reason for the sudden change?”
“The circumstances have changed,” I stated flatly, offering him absolutely no further detail to chew on.
His eyes rapidly scanned the glowing monitor.
“Well, you’re in luck. The transfer hasn’t actually been fully processed yet. You’ve caught it just in the nick of time.”
He paused, his gaze lifting from the screen to meet my eyes directly.
“Are you absolutely certain about this, Mrs. Miller? Sixty thousand dollars is a very significant amount of money.”
I nodded slowly, feeling a massive, unexpected wave of calm resolve wash completely over me.
“I’m certain.”
Sixty thousand dollars. That hefty sum was the second major installment I had been meticulously planning to send her, right on top of the initial forty thousand dollars I had already wired over. One hundred thousand dollars in total. A staggering fortune for a wedding celebration that I was suddenly deemed unworthy to attend in person.
I signed the necessary, heavy-stock paperwork. The scratching stroke of my blue ink pen felt incredibly decisive and deeply final. I walked right out of those sliding glass bank doors without a single, solitary shred of regret. By the time I pulled my car into my driveway, my silenced phone showed a glaring notification of eleven missed calls from Jessica and three frantic ones from Michael. I checked one of Michael’s voicemails. It was just a short, painfully clipped sentence.
“Mom, please. Don’t do this.”
I tossed my phone onto the cool kitchen counter and walked away from it. Deep in the pantry, I retrieved a dusty bottle of expensive, full-bodied red wine I had been hoarding for a truly special occasion. I had originally intended to pop the cork last Thanksgiving, but Jessica had casually canceled her holiday visit at the very last minute. A supposed work emergency, she had claimed at the time. I uncorked the dark glass bottle, poured myself an incredibly generous glass, and carried it out to my wooden back porch, sinking deeply into the faded cushions of my wicker chair right as the sun began its vibrant, fiery descent.