I pulled my laptop closer and woke the screen. “I am sending you the complete documentation of every single payment Meridian has made on their behalf over the last four years. Bank routing records, transaction histories, the works. I want you to prepare a comprehensive, heavily detailed report.”
“For what purpose?”
“I am going to wrap it up and gift it to them. Right around the exact time their massive wedding bills start bouncing.”
“You are really going nuclear on this, aren’t you?”
“They officially declared war the second they forged my signature. I am just finishing the battle they started.”
My phone buzzed on the desk with a priority email notification. I glanced at the sender’s name and felt a cold, sharp smile stretch across my face.
“Kinley, I have to let you go. I just received an email from someone named Destiny. She is apparently Sasha’s luxury wedding planner.”
“What does it say?”
I opened the message and scanned the frantic text quickly. “She is having severe payment processing issues with the initial vendor deposits. She wants to speak with someone from the family urgently.”
“The checks are already bouncing?”
“It certainly looks like it. My brilliant parents probably wrote massive checks against the sale proceeds before the escrow money actually cleared the bank. Absolute amateur hour. You cannot spend cash from a fraudulent, flagged transaction. They are about to learn that lesson the hard way.”
I closed the email window and walked back to the glass, looking out over the bustling city below.
“How long will the legal injunction take to hit?” I asked.
“I can file the paperwork first thing tomorrow morning. With the hard evidence of the corporate fraud, we should have a temporary restraining order from a judge within forty-eight hours.”
“Perfect. That gives them just enough time to dig their hole a little deeper.”
“Maya, I have to ask as your counsel. Are you absolutely sure about this? Once we initiate this legal process, there is no hitting the brakes. Your family will find out exactly who has been holding them up all these years, and they will lose everything.”
I pictured Sasha’s smug, radiant face on the video call. I thought about the way she casually dismissed my feelings, treating me like a malfunctioning appliance for daring to care that my own home had been stolen and pawned.
“Good,” I whispered. “I want them to know. I want them to look at the paperwork and understand exactly what they threw away.”
“All right, then. I will start drafting the injunction tonight.”
“Thank you, Kinley. I owe you.”
“You do not owe me a dime. This is what best friends do. Besides, I have been waiting years for you to finally stand up to these people.”
After we disconnected, I sat in the pristine silence of my office, watching Destiny’s increasingly frantic emails roll into my inbox. Three more had populated while I was on the phone with Kinley, each subject line typed in more desperate capital letters than the last. I opened a new draft and began typing a response to the wedding planner. I was not doing it to help; I was doing it to give the first domino a gentle push.
“Dear Destiny,” I typed, my fingers flying over the keys. “I understand you are experiencing payment issues regarding the Gill wedding. Unfortunately, I am currently stationed overseas and am completely unable to assist with any financial matters. You may want to contact the family directly about securing alternative funding sources. Best of luck with the event.”
I hit send and immediately opened a new browser tab. It was time to do a little recreational research on high-end wedding cancellation policies and vendor breach-of-contract penalties.
My phone buzzed again. Another email from Destiny. This one was flagged with a red exclamation point for urgency. I dragged it straight to the trash without even reading it.
“Let the games begin,” I murmured to the empty room.
The following morning ushered in absolute chaos, and I had secured a front-row seat to watch the spectacle unfold. My phone began to vibrate relentlessly against the nightstand at precisely six o’clock, Singapore time. It was a barrage of notifications from the family group chat—a thread I had mercifully muted months prior to preserve my sanity. I unmuted it now, propping myself up against the hotel headboard simply to watch the theater of it all.
“I cannot believe this. The florist is being unbelievably difficult about the payment schedule,” Sasha texted, the digital panic practically leaping off the screen.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart. Dad’s handling it,” my mother replied almost instantly.
“But what if they cancel our entire order? The imported peonies are absolutely perfect,” Sasha shot back.
“Everything is completely fine. It is just some minor banking delays,” my father chimed in, projecting false confidence.
I captured a screenshot of the delusional exchange and forwarded it to Kinley with a single, two-word message: “It begins.”
Minutes later, my laptop chimed with an incoming video request from Kinley. I accepted, and her face appeared on the screen, a steaming coffee mug gripped firmly in her hand. The early morning light of her time zone streamed through her office blinds.
“The injunction is officially filed,” she announced without any preamble. “Judge Morrison is reviewing the docket this afternoon.”
“How long until they actually freeze the outbound funds?” I asked, pulling my knees to my chest.
“If he signs off on the fraud evidence, the banking institution will receive the court order by the close of business today. Every single cent from that real estate sale gets locked down tight, pending a full federal investigation.”
“Impeccable timing,” I murmured. “Sasha’s final dress fitting is scheduled for tomorrow.”
“You are enjoying this entirely too much.”
“Am I? Let me read you the latest dispatch from Destiny, the increasingly desperate wedding planner.” I navigated to my inbox, locating the message that had arrived twenty minutes prior. “Dear Maya, I am reaching out because I am completely unable to contact your parents, and several key vendors are currently threatening to cancel their services due to severe payment issues. The massive catering deposit bounced entirely, the estate venue is demanding immediate wire payment, and the live band wants cash up front before they will even load their equipment. Please call me urgently.”
“Ouch,” Kinley winced.
“Wait, it gets better. She fired off another one exactly five minutes later. ‘Maya, I am starting to genuinely panic. Your sister keeps assuring me that everything is perfectly fine, but I currently have seventeen separate vendors asking for their money, and your parents are refusing to return my calls. My professional reputation is on the line here.'”
Kinley shook her head slowly, taking a sip of her coffee. “That poor woman. She is about to learn an incredibly expensive lesson about corporate due diligence.”
My cell phone lit up on the mattress. My father’s contact photo filled the high-resolution screen—a shot of him grinning broadly at last year’s Christmas dinner, his arm draped affectionately over Sasha’s shoulder.
“Speak of the devil,” I noted, watching the call ring.
“You are not going to answer it?”
“Heavens, no. But I will put it on speaker so you can hear the inevitable voicemail.”
The line clicked over to the automated greeting, and seconds later, my father’s voice filled my hotel room. He sounded strained, trying entirely too hard to project an air of casual inconvenience.
“Hey Maya, it is Dad. I just wanted to chat about some incredibly minor banking hiccups we are currently experiencing. Nothing serious at all, just some tedious timing issues with the apartment sale clearing the escrow. Give me a quick call back when you get a chance, alright? Love you.”
“Minor banking hiccups,” Kinley repeated dryly. “That is certainly one highly creative way to phrase it. He has absolutely no idea what kind of storm is brewing.”
My laptop pinged with yet another incoming email. This one was not from Destiny. It was from an account manager named Jet at the Grandview Estate.
“Dear Ms. Gill,” I read aloud, my eyes tracking the text. “We have attempted to process the venue deposit multiple times this week, but all payments have been unequivocally declined by your institution. Per our signed contract, we require the payment in full within forty-eight hours, or we will have no choice but to release your reserved date to other waiting clients. Please contact our office immediately.”
“The venue is threatening to pull the plug?” Kinley asked.
“It certainly looks like it. And if I know Sasha’s habits, she has likely been boasting about this specific estate all over social media for months. The public embarrassment alone will devastate her.”
“Maya,” Kinley said suddenly, looking off-screen at her own phone. “Your parents are trying to call me now.”
“Do not answer it. Let them sweat it out.”
“Too late, I already sent it straight to voicemail. But they left a message. Let me play it.”