you doing?”
I looked toward the group gathering around Mom for their bloodline portrait.
“Nothing dramatic,” I said. “I’m just letting family handle family expenses.”
A moment later, the venue manager entered the ballroom carrying the unpaid invoice.
I looked at her.
Then at them.
And I said, “Ask the blood relatives to pay the $40,000 themselves.”
Nobody moved.
Mom gave a soft laugh, the kind she used whenever she wanted an insult to sound sophisticated.
“Clara, don’t be ridiculous.”
The venue manager glanced between us.
“The final balance
