Page 39 of Picture Perfect

Dixon sits back, pompous as ever. “I’m sure Andre says all kinds of things, Mr. Garrison. He was a shitty lawyer in school and he hasn’t learned a damned thing since. He’ll say anything to keep a client. I’m shocked he doesn’t have one or both of you in a neck brace right now. He’s an ambulance chaser. You’d be better off—“

“Pay it,” I tell Dixon.

His head whips around like a bird of prey. “What?”

“We will accept the settlement offer.”

“You cannot be serious, Rowan.”

“Oh?”

He snaps, “You can’t just—

“Oh, can’t I?”

“Can I see you privately—

“No. You know something, Dixon? One of the best parts of your contract is the insubordination clause that says we don’t have to pay you a dime if you—

“Fine, fine,” he says, hands fisting beneath the table. He grumbles to Mr. Garrison, “I will see to it personally that we cut you a check. Good day, gentlemen.” He storms out of the room.

Andre blinks rapidly at me. “Did that just happen?”

“In a good world, Andre, none of this would have happened. Mr. Garrison, I am sorry for what happened to you. I would be bereft if I could not recall my father’s face. No amount of money can ever make that right, but I hope that in whatever way this can, it helps.”

He has tears in his eyes. “With this, my family can keep their home while I find a new job. Thank you, Mr. Cargill.”

I shake his hand and leave, trying not to get choked up myself. On my way out, Dixon flags me to his office’s door. “This isn’t over, Rowan. You might be a name partner, but you’re not the only one.”

“Save your threats for someone you can intimidate. Must be a short list, shouldn’t be too hard to figure out.”

He opens his mouth.

But I cut him off. “Don’t try to be clever, Dixon. It doesn’t suit you, much like that suit you’re trying to wear.” I turn on my heel and leave the office.

15

Autumn

Harmony Hill is a rustic barn-style venue popular with those seeking a more casual atmosphere for their nuptials. Or so the brochure reads. What that actually means is barn cats, mosquitos, and the occasional feeling that the banjo theme fromDeliverancecould play at any moment. But wherever the bride and groom go, me and Delia follow.

In all fairness to Harmony Hill, it is nice enough. It’s no Cargill Mansion by any means, but for every dab of elegance it lacks, Harmony Hill makes up for in savings. The rehearsal dinner is fried chicken with all the fixings. The dinner is a social event, so people sit where they like, drinking and dining. Some guests look perturbed, but others roll with the casual atmosphere. The perfect chance to get some candid shots from a distance, per the bride’s request.

Delia still can’t get over the venue. Quietly, she asks, “I don’t get it, Autumn. Why would Arthur Lawrence, of the Lawrence Frozen Foods family fortune, get married here?”

I whisper, “You didn’t hear? He’s been cut off from the family.”

“No!” Her voice carries, unfortunately.

Smiling at the guests disturbed by her outburst, I motion for Delia to join me in the hall. Fewer guests and no chance anyone will hear me. But I still keep my voice down. “Last year, he had a quickie Vegas wedding, followed by an even quicker annulment. He blamed the whole thing on too much tequila, but his mother has had it with him bringing controversy to the family, since his sister is running for Senate.”

“That seems a steep price for a fixable mistake—

“His Vegas bride was a sex worker who promptly got a picture of his face tattooed on her thigh.”

Delia snorts a laugh, trying to keep it down. “Oh.”

“And the year before that, he woke up in Mexico with a hangover, a kilo of coke, a donkey, and no pants.”

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