“Claire, what are you doing?” he whispered.
Margaret leaned forward, her composure cracking.
“You wouldn’t dare…”
“Let me check that,” my father said, his tone turning businesslike. “One moment.”
The silence that followed was suffocating.
I could feel my pulse in my fingertips, but my voice remained calm.
“Claire, this isn’t funny,” Margaret said, gripping her napkin. “You can’t just call the CEO like that.”
“I can,” I said. “He’s my father.”
The word landed heavily.
Charles looked up sharply.
“Your father… James Whitmore? The owner of Blue Horizon?”
I nodded.
“Yes.”
Margaret froze. For the first time, I saw uncertainty flicker across her face.
My father returned.
“I have the reservation here. Three luxury cabins connected to a VIP suite. What would you like me to do?”
I adjusted slightly in my chair.
“Cancel all of them. And note that any future reservations under Margaret Dawson and her party require direct approval from you or me.”
“Understood,” he said immediately. “Are you sure?”
I looked straight at Margaret.
“I’m sure.”
“Done,” he replied. “They’ll receive confirmation shortly. Anything else?”
And for the first time… no one at the table spoke.