The dinner began just as awkwardly as anticipated. I was ushered into a dining room that looked like it had been lifted straight out of an art gallery, with its high ceilings, crystal chandeliers, and walls adorned with portraits of solemn ancestors. Around the table sat Jessica’s parents, Rupert and Margaret Harrington, both impeccably dressed and exuding an air of affluence and entitlement. My son and his wife exchanged nervous glances, seated across from them.
Rupert started the conversation with polite, probing questions about my work. “So, you’re in consulting? Quite a competitive field, I imagine,” he remarked, his tone layered with thinly veiled skepticism.
“Yes, it can be,” I replied, keeping my response deliberately vague. I wasn’t about to elaborate on how my firm had secured multi-million dollar contracts or my role in advising some of the largest corporations in the country.
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