I Was Seated Alone at My Son’s Wedding — Then a Stranger Said, “Act Like You’re With Me”

I Was Forced to Sit Alone at My Son’s Wedding — Then a Stranger Said ‘Act Like You’re With Me’

AT MY SON’S LUXURY WEDDING, I WAS FORCED TO SIT ALONE IN THE BACK. ‘YOUR POVERTY WILL EMBARRASS US,’ HIS BRIDE SNEERED. SUDDENLY, A MAN IN AN EXPENSIVE SUIT SAT BESIDE ME: ‘ACT LIKE YOU’RE WITH ΜΕ.’ WHEN MY SON SAW US TOGETHER, HE WENT PALE.

I Was Forced to Sit Alone at My Son’s Wedding — Then a Stranger Said ‘Act Like You’re With Me’

The champagne glass in my hand trembled as the wedding coordinator pointed toward the very back row.

“Your poverty will embarrass us.”

Viven had sneered just hours earlier, her perfect manicure tapping against the seating chart. I watched my own son Brandon nod in agreement, avoiding my eyes like I was some shameful family secret.

Well, at least they were consistent in their cruelty.

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My name is Eleanor Patterson and I’m 68 years old. Three years ago, I buried my husband, Robert, after a grueling battle with cancer. I thought the worst pain of my life was behind me.

I was wrong.

Nothing prepared me for the systematic humiliation my son would put me through, culminating in this moment at his wedding to Denver’s most entitled socialite.

The Ashworth estate sprawled before me like something from a movie set, all manicured gardens and marble fountains. 500 guests mingled in designer clothes that cost more than my monthly pension.

I smoothed my navy blue dress, the nicest one I owned, and reminded myself that I had every right to be here.

This was my son’s wedding, even if he seemed to have forgotten that detail.

“Elellanar Patterson.”

The coordinator’s voice dripped with barely concealed disdain.

“Row 12, seat 15.”

the very back.

Naturally, behind the florist, behind the photographers, practically in the parking lot. I could see Vivian’s mother at the front, surrounded by her society friends, all stealing glances at me like I was a curiosity in a zoo.

As I made my way down the aisle, conversations quieted.

Not the respectful hush for the mother of the groom, but the uncomfortable silence of people witnessing something awkward.

A woman in a $1,000 hat whispered to her companion, “That’s Brandon’s mother.”

“Viven told me she used to clean houses.”

I didn’t clean houses, actually. I taught high school English for 37 years, but apparently that didn’t fit their narrative.

The back row was mostly empty except for a few late arrivals and what appeared to be the catering staff.

I settled into my assigned seat, watching my son greet guests at the altar. He looked handsome in his tailored tuxedo. every inch the successful lawyer he’d become.

For a moment, I remembered the little boy who used to bring me dandelions and tell me I was the prettiest mommy in the world.

That little boy had died somewhere along the way to becoming this man who was ashamed of where he came from.

The ceremony began with pomp and circumstance worthy of royalty.

Viven floated down the aisle in a dress that probably cost more than I spent on groceries in a year. She was beautiful, I had to admit, in that cold, pristine way that money could buy.

As she passed my row, she didn’t even glance in my direction.

Brandon’s eyes were fixed on his bride with an intensity that made my chest ache.

He’d never looked at me with that kind of love, not even as a child.

I’d always been the practical parent, the one who handled homework and discipline, while Robert was the fun dad who took him to baseball games.

“Dearly beloved,” the minister began, and I tried to focus on feeling grateful to be here at all.

After all, they could have simply not invited me.

That particular cruelty was apparently beneath even Viven, though barely.

That’s when I felt someone sit down beside me.

I turned to see a distinguished man in an impeccably tailored charcoal suit settling into the seat beside me.

He had silver hair, sharp blue eyes, and the kind of quiet confidence that money and power bred.

Everything about him screamed wealth, from his Italian leather shoes, to the elegant watch that caught the afternoon light.

“Act like you’re with me,” he whispered, his voice low and urgent.

Before I could respond, he placed his hand gently over mine and smiled at me as if we were old friends sharing a lovely afternoon.

The transformation was immediate and startling.

Suddenly, I wasn’t the pathetic woman sitting alone in the back row.

I was part of a couple, and clearly part of a well-dressed, sophisticated couple at that.

The whispering around us took on a different tone entirely.

“Who is that man with Brandon’s mother?” I heard someone behind us murmur.

“He looks important.”

“Maybe we misjudged the situation.”

My mysterious companion had remarkable timing.

Just as Brandon and Vivien were exchanging vows, he leaned closer and whispered, “Your son is about to look this way. When he does, smile at me like I just told you something fascinating.”

I had no idea who this man was or why he was helping me, but I found myself following his lead.

Sure enough, Brandon’s gaze swept across the crowd during a pause in the ceremony and landed on our row.

When he saw me sitting beside this elegant stranger, laughing softly at whatever he’d apparently just said, Brandon’s face went completely white.

Viven noticed her new husband’s distraction and followed his stare.

Her perfectly composed expression faltered for just a moment when she saw me, no longer alone and pathetic, but apparently accompanied by someone who looked like he belonged in the front row with the other important guests.

The mysterious man squeezed my hand gently.

“Perfect,” he murmured.

“Your son looks like he’s seen a ghost.”

“Who are you?” I whispered back, trying to maintain the appearance of casual conversation.

“Someone who should have been in your life a long time ago,” he replied cryptically.

“We’ll talk after the ceremony. For now, just enjoy watching your son try to figure out what’s happening.”

And I have to admit, I was enjoying it immensely.

For the first time in months, maybe years, I felt like I had some power in this family dynamic.

The confusion and concern on Brandon’s face was almost worth the humiliation of being seated in social Siberia.

The ceremony continued, but the energy had shifted.

People kept glancing back at us, clearly trying to figure out who my companion was and what his presence meant.

The society matrons who had been whispering about my inferior status were now craning their necks for a better look at the distinguished gentleman who was treating me with such obvious respect and affection.

When the minister pronounced Brandon and Vivien, husband and wife, mysterious ally stood and offered me his arm like a proper gentleman.

“Shall we proceed to the reception, my dear Eleanor?”

He knew my name.

This was getting more interesting by the minute.

As we walked toward the reception tent, I could feel eyes following us.

The same people who had dismissed me 20 minutes earlier were now regarding me with curiosity and what looked suspiciously like newfound respect.

“You never told me your name,” I said quietly as we made our way across the manicured lawn.

He smiled, a expression that transformed his entire face.

“Theodore Blackwood, but you used to call me Theo.”

The world tilted slightly on its axis.

Theo.

My Theo from 50 years ago.

Theodore Blackwood.

The name hit me like a physical blow, carrying with it a flood of memories I’d carefully locked away decades ago.

I stopped walking so abruptly that several guests nearly collided with us.

“Theo?”

My voice came out as barely a whisper.

“But that’s impossible. You’re supposed to be in Europe. You’re supposed to be married with grandchildren by now.”

He guided me to a quiet corner of the garden, away from the crowd streaming toward the reception tent.

Up close, I could see the boy I’d loved desperately when I was 18 years old.

His eyes were the same startling blue, though now framed by lines that spoke of years I hadn’t shared with him.

His smile was the same, too, warm and slightly mischievous.

“I never married,” he said simply.

“And I never stopped looking for you.”

The words hung between us like a bridge across 50 years of separation.

I felt 18 again and 68 simultaneously.

A dizzying combination that made me grateful for his steadying hand on my arm.

“Looking for me?” I managed.

“Or Theo, I got married. I had a son. I built a life.”

The accusation in my voice surprised even me.

“You left for that business program in London and never came back.”

His expression grew pained.

“I wrote you letters, Ellaner, dozens of them. I called your apartment for months. I even came back to Denver twice during those first two years.”

“But you’d moved, and no one would tell me where.”

He paused, studying my face.

“You never got any of my letters, did you?”

The pieces of a 50-year-old puzzle began falling into place with sickening clarity.

My mother, who had never approved of Theo because his family had money while ours decidedly did not.

My mother, who had always believed I was reaching above my station.

My mother, who had been suspiciously supportive when I started dating Robert just months after Theo left for Europe.

“She threw them away,” I said, the certainty of it settling in my stomach like a stone.

“My mother intercepted your letters.”

Theo’s jaw tightened.

“I suspected as much, but I could never prove it.”

“When I finally hired a private investigator to find you in 1978, you were already married and pregnant.”

“I didn’t want to disrupt your life, so I stayed away.”

Brandon was born in 1989, which meant I’d already been married to Robert for 2 years by then.

The timing was cruel in its precision.

If Theo had found me just 2 years earlier, if my mother hadn’t interfered, if I’d known he was looking for me.

“You hired a private investigator.”

The absurdity of it struck me.

Here I was, standing in the shadow of my son’s wedding reception, discussing roads not taken with the man who had occupied my dreams for the first 5 years of my marriage to Robert.

“Several, actually,” Theo admitted with a rofful smile.

“It became something of an obsession.”

“Every few years I’d try again.”

“I followed your career, you know, read about your teaching awards in the local papers.”

“I was proud of you, Ellaner.”

“I always knew you’d touch lives.”

The reception music started up in the distance. a jazz quartet playing something elegant and expensive.

We should join the party, I knew, but I couldn’t seem to move from this garden corner where my past and present were colliding in the most spectacular way.

“Why now?” I asked.

“Why show up today of all days?”

Theo’s expression grew serious.

“Because I read your husband’s obituary 3 years ago.”

“I wanted to reach out then, but it felt inappropriate so soon after your loss.”

“Then last month, I saw the wedding announcement in the society pages.”

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a newspaper clipping.

There it was, the announcement that had filled me with such complicated emotions.

A photo of Brandon and Vivien looking like the golden couple they believed themselves to be.

And beneath it, the details of today’s celebration at the Ashworth estate.

The announcement mentioned that the groom’s mother, Elellanar Patterson, was a retired educator.

Theo’s voice grew soft.

“I knew it was you immediately. After all these years of searching, I found you in the Denver Post wedding section.”

The irony was breathtaking.

After decades of private investigators and searches, fate had delivered my location through my son’s marriage to a woman who had spent the morning making sure I knew how little I belonged in their world.

“So, you came to crash a wedding?”

“I came to see you,” he corrected.

“I had no intention of interfering with your son’s day.”

“I was planning to sit in the back, watch you be proud of your boy, and maybe work up the courage to approach you afterward.”

His eyes twinkled with mischief.

“But when I saw how they were treating you, well, I couldn’t just sit there and watch.”

That’s when we heard Brandon’s voice behind us, sharp with panic and something that might have been anger.

“Mother, we need to talk now.”

Brandon approached us with Viven at his side, both of them looking like they just witnessed a natural disaster.

My new daughter-in-law’s wedding glow had been replaced by an expression of barely controlled panic, while Brandon’s face had gone from pale to flushed in the span of our garden conversation.

“Brandon,” I said pleasantly, not releasing Theo’s arm, “shouldn’t you be greeting your other guests? I’m sure the Ashworths are wondering where the groom has disappeared to.”

“Who is this man?”

Vivien demanded.

Her voice pitched just low enough to avoid causing a scene, but sharp enough to draw blood.

Her perfect composure was cracking, and it was a beautiful thing to witness.

Theo stepped forward with the kind of easy confidence that comes from never having to worry about impressing anyone.

“Theodore Blackwood,” he said, extending his hand to Brandon.

“I should have introduced myself sooner, but I was caught up in the pleasure of seeing your mother again after so many years.”

Brandon shook the offered hand automatically, his lawyer’s training kicking in even as confusion clouded his features.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Blackwood, but I don’t believe my mother has mentioned you, hasn’t she?”

Theo’s eyebrows rose in mock surprise.

“How interesting.”

“Eleanor and I have quite a history together, don’t we, darling?”

The casual endearment made Vivien’s eyes narrow to slits.

I could practically see her mental calculator working, trying to figure out who this man was and what his presence meant for her carefully orchestrated social debut as Brandon’s wife.

“What kind of history?”

Brandon’s voice had taken on the edge it got when he was cross-examining a witness.

20 years of marriage to a trial lawyer had taught me to recognize that tone.

Theo’s smile never wavered.

“The kind that matters most.”

“Your mother and I were quite serious once upon a time before she met your father.”

Of course, the admission hung in the air like an unexloded bomb.

I watched my son process this information, saw the moment when he began to understand that his mother had a life and a past that existed entirely separate from his existence.

“How serious.”

Viven’s question came out as more of a hiss.

“Serious enough that I’ve spent 50 years regretting the circumstances that separated us,” Theo replied, his eyes finding mine.

“Serious enough that when I saw the wedding announcement and realized Elellanar would be here today, I couldn’t stay away.”

Brandon looked between us with growing alarm.

“Mother, what is he talking about?”

“You never mentioned anyone named Theodore Blackwood.”

“There are a lot of things I never mentioned, Brandon,” I said quietly.

“Apparently, I wasn’t considered important enough to merit in-depth conversation about my past.”

The barb hit its mark.

My son had the grace to look embarrassed.

“But I’m curious,” I continued, warming to the theme, “why my personal relationships are suddenly of such urgent interest to you both.”

“20 minutes ago, I was an embarrassment to be hidden in the back row.”

“Now I’m worth interrupting your reception.”

Viven’s carefully applied makeup couldn’t quite hide the flush creeping up her neck.

“That’s not what we we just want to understand who this gentleman is and why he’s here.”

“I’m here,” Theo said smoothly, “because Eleanor deserves to have someone who appreciates her remarkable qualities at her son’s wedding.”

“Someone who recognizes what an extraordinary woman she is.”

The contrast between his words and the treatment I’d received all day was stark enough to make even Brandon shift uncomfortably.

Viven, however, rallied with the ruthless determination that had probably served her well in social climbing.

“Mr. Blackwood,” she said with a smile that could have cut glass, “I’m sure you understand that this is a family celebration. Perhaps it would be more appropriate if you if I what?”

Theo’s voice remained pleasant.

But there was steel underneath now.

“If I left and allowed you to continue treating Eleanor as an inconvenience, I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

“Now see here,” Brandon began, his protective instincts finally kicking in, though I noticed they seem to be protecting his wife rather than his mother.

“No, you see here,” Theo interrupted, his facade of polite interest finally dropping.

“I’ve watched for the past hour, as both of you have systematically ignored and dismissed one of the finest women I’ve ever known.”

“Elellanar raised you, sacrificed for you, and loved you unconditionally.”

“And this is how you honor her at your wedding.”

The words I’d long to hear someone say hung in the air between us.

Validation finally from someone who mattered.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Viven snapped, her composure finally cracking completely.

“You don’t know anything about our family dynamics.”

Theo’s laugh was cold.

“I know enough.”

“I know that Eleanor was seated in the back row like an afterthought.”

“I know that your society friends have been whispering about her all afternoon while you did nothing to defend her.”

“And I know that neither of you bothered to ask if she needed anything or anyone today.”

“She had an escort,” Brandon protested weakly.

“We assumed she was bringing someone.”

“You assumed wrong,” I said quietly.

“But then, you haven’t asked me much of anything lately, have you, Brandon?”

The hurt in my voice must have gotten through to him because for the first time all day, my son really looked at me.

Not through me, not past me, but at me.

What he saw there made him take a step back.

“Mom, I didn’t realize.”

“That’s exactly the problem.”

Theo cut him off.

“You didn’t realize, but I did.”

“And now I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

That’s when Viven made her fatal mistake.

“Well, we’ll just see about that.”

The threat in Viven’s voice was unmistakable, and I watched Theo’s expression shift from politely amused to genuinely dangerous.

Whatever my daughter-in-law thought she knew about power dynamics.

She was about to receive a master class from someone who had clearly been playing this game a lot longer than she had.

“I’m sorry,” Theo said, his voice carrying the kind of quiet authority that made smart people nervous.

“Are you threatening me, Mrs. Patterson?”

Vivian lifted her chin defiantly.

I’m simply saying that if you think you can waltz into our wedding and disrupt our family, you’re mistaken.

We have security and they can escort you out if necessary.

The silence that followed was the kind that precedes either laughter or violence.

Theo chose laughter, rich and genuinely amused.

“Your security.”

He pulled out his phone and made a quick call.

“James? Yes, it’s Theo.”

“I’m at the Ashworth estate for a wedding.”

“Could you send the car around? and James, bring the portfolio.”

He hung up and smiled at Vivien with the patience of a cat watching a particularly foolish mouse.

Security is an interesting concept, isn’t it?

The Ashworths have done well for themselves in Denver society.

Regional wealth, local influence.

Quite impressive, really.

Brandon was beginning to look like a man who sensed he was standing on quicksand, but couldn’t quite figure out where the solid ground had gone.

“Mr. Blackwood, I think there may be some misunderstanding here.”

“Oh, there’s definitely a misunderstanding,” Theo agreed.

“You seem to think you’re in control of this situation.”

“Let me help clarify things for you.”

A black Mercedes pulled up to the garden entrance, and a uniform driver emerged carrying a leather portfolio.

He approached our group with the kind of respectful difference that money recognizes instantly.

“Thank you, James,” Theo said, accepting the portfolio.

“Mrs. Patterson, Mr. Patterson, would you like to see something interesting?”

He opened the portfolio and pulled out what appeared to be architectural drawings.

“These are the plans for the new Blackwood Tower downtown.”

“42 stories, mixeduse development.”

“Construction begins next month.”

He flipped to another page.

“And this is the site where it’s being built.”

Vivien leaned forward despite herself, then went very still.

“That’s that’s where Ashworth Properties has their main office building. had.”

Theo corrected gently.

“I purchased the building last month.”

“The current tenants have 90 days to relocate.”

“I’m sure your father will find suitable accommodations elsewhere, though perhaps not quite as prestigious as their current location.”

The color drained from Vivian’s face completely.

Her father’s real estate company was successful by Denver standards.

But they were clearly minnows swimming in a pond with a shark.

“You can’t do that,” she whispered.

“Actually, I can.”

“I did.”

“The sale is already complete.”

Theo closed the portfolio with a soft snap.

“But here’s the interesting part.”

“I had no idea when I bought that building that there was any connection to this family.”

“Pure coincidence.”

Brandon found his voice.

“What do you want?”

“Want?”

Theo seemed genuinely puzzled by the question.

“I don’t want anything from you, Brandon.”

“You’ve already given me the greatest gift imaginable by treating your mother so poorly that she needed someone to sit with her today.”

He turned to me and the hardness in his expression melted into something warm and real.

“Ellaner, would you like to leave this reception?”

“We have 50 years to catch up on and I find I’m no longer interested in pretending to enjoy myself here.”

The offer hung between us like a lifeline.

I could walk away from this humiliation, from the whispered comments and social calculations.

I could leave with a man who saw value in me, who had spent five decades trying to find me.

But first, I had something to say.

“Brandon,” I said, my voice steady despite the emotions churning inside me, “I want you to understand something.”

“This morning, when your bride told me that my poverty would embarrass your family, I accepted it.”

“When you seated me in the back row like some distant acquaintance, I accepted that, too.”

“I told myself that at least I was here.”

“At least I was included.”

My son’s face was a mask of misery.

But I wasn’t finished.

“But watching you panic because someone important is paying attention to me.”

“Seeing you scramble to figure out who Theo is and what he might want.”

“That tells me everything I need to know about how you see me.”

“I’m not your mother at these moments, Brandon.”

“I’m a liability to be managed.”

“Mom, that’s not—”

“It is exactly that,” I interrupted.

“And the sad part is you’re right.”

“I am poor compared to Viven’s family.”

“I did teach high school instead of building an empire.”

“I don’t wear designer clothes or belong to country clubs.”

“By your wife’s standards, I am an embarrassment.”

Vivien opened her mouth to protest, but I held up my hand.

“The difference is I’m not ashamed of who I am anymore.”

“I’m proud of the life I built, the students I taught, the marriage I had with your father.”

“I’m proud of raising you to be successful. even if I’m disappointed in the man you’ve become.”

I took Theo’s offered arm and felt years of accumulated hurt and resentment fall away like a discarded coat.

“Theodore,” I said formally, “I would very much like to leave this reception.”

“I think we have some catching up to do.”

As we walked away from the garden, I heard Viven’s voice rise in panic behind us.

“Brandon, do you have any idea who Theodore Blackwood is?”

“Do you know what this means?”

But I didn’t look back.

For the first time in three years, I was walking towards something instead of away from it.

The restaurant Theo chose was the kind of place I’d only read about in magazines.

Floor to ceiling windows overlooked the Denver skyline.

Soft jazz played in the background, and the weight staff moved with the quiet efficiency of people who understood that discretion was more valuable than visibility.

“I probably should have asked,” Theo said as we were seated at a corner table with a view of the mountains. “Are you hungry?”

“I realized we both missed the wedding dinner.”

I laughed, surprising myself with how genuine it sounded.

“I don’t think I could have eaten another bite of pretentious canopes anyway.”

“Though I have to admit, I’m curious what a $500 a plate dinner tastes like.”

“Disappointing,” he said dryly.

“Very expensive disappointment.”

The waiter appeared as if summoned by telepathy.

“Mr. Blackwood, your usual table.”

“Shall I bring the wine list, please?”

“And could we have some of those stuffed mushrooms Ellaner likes?”

He caught my expression and smiled.

“I remember you ordered them at Romanos that night when we celebrated your acceptance to the teacher training program.”

The memory hit me like a physical blow.

Romanos, the little Italian place that had been our special restaurant.

I’d been 20 years old.

He’d been 22.

And we’d been so desperately in love that we could barely sit across from each other without reaching for hands.

“You remember what I ordered 50 years ago?”

“I remember everything about you,” he said simply.

“The way you laughed at your own jokes.”

“How you got that little wrinkle between your eyebrows when you were concentrating.”

“The fact that you always stole the olives from my salad because you were too polite to order extra for yourself.”

Tears pricricked at my eyes.

When had anyone last paid attention to me that way?

Robert had loved me.

I knew that.

But his love had been comfortable, practical.

He’d loved me the way you love a well- functioning appliance, with gratitude, but without wonder.

“Tell me about your life,” Theo said after the wine arrived.

“Not the headlines I could find in newspaper archives.”

“Tell me about the parts that mattered to you.”

So I did.

I told him about my teaching career, about the students who’d kept me sane during the difficult years with Robert’s illness.

I told him about Brandon’s childhood, about the pride I’d felt watching him graduate law school and pass the bar exam.

I told him about the quiet satisfaction of a marriage that wasn’t passionate but was steady and kind.

And then I told him about the loneliness that had crept in after Robert’s death, about feeling invisible in my own son’s life, about the gradual realization that I’d become more of an obligation than a person to the people who were supposed to love me most.

Today wasn’t an aberration, I admitted.

It was just the most public example of how things have been for months now.

Brandon calls dutifully every two weeks, visits on holidays, and treats me like a chore to be checked off his list.

I thought marriage might change that, make him more family oriented.

Instead, it’s made him even more distant.

Theo’s jaw tightened as I talked, and by the time I finished, his expression was thunderous.

“That boy doesn’t deserve you.”

“He’s not a boy anymore.”

“He’s a 35-year-old man who made his choices.”

I sipped my wine, grateful for its warmth.

“What about you?”

“You said you never married.”

“No children.”

“No children,” he confirmed.

“A few relationships over the years, but nothing that stuck.”

“I kept measuring everyone against you, which wasn’t fair to them or to me.”

The admission hung between us, loaded with implications I wasn’t sure I was ready to examine.

“Theo, what are we doing here?”

“This isn’t just a friendly ketchup dinner between old flames, is it?”

He set down his wine glass and looked at me with an intensity that made my breath catch.

“Eleanor, I’m 70 years old.”

“I’ve built a business empire, traveled the world, and accomplished everything I set out to do.”

“But there’s never been a day in the past 50 years when I didn’t wonder what my life would have been like if your mother hadn’t interfered.”

“We can’t go backward,” I said quietly.

“We’re not the same people we were at 20.”

“No, we’re not,” he agreed.

“We’re better.”

“We know what we want now, what matters and what doesn’t.”

“We’ve lived enough life to recognize real value when we see it.”

The waiter appeared with our appetizers, giving me time to process what Theo was really saying.

When we were alone again, he reached across the table and took my hand.

“I’m not suggesting we pretend the last 50 years didn’t happen.”

“I’m suggesting we decide what we want the next 20 years to look like.”

My phone buzzed against my purse, then again.

again.

“You should probably check that,” Theo said with knowing amusement.

“I suspect your son has done some research since we left the reception.”

I pulled out my phone to find 17 missed calls from Brandon and a stream of increasingly frantic text messages.

Mom, call me immediately.

Do you have any idea who Theodore Blackwood is?

He’s worth over $500 million.

What is your relationship with him?

Viven’s father wants to meet with him about the building purchase.

Can you arrange an introduction?

Please call.

We need to talk.

I showed the messages to Theo, who read them with obvious satisfaction.

“Interesting how quickly their interest in your personal life developed,” he observed.

“What are you going to do about the building?”

“Nothing.”

“The sale is final, the contracts are signed, and Ashworth Properties has 90 days to relocate.”

“Business is business.”