I turned and walked back to my car, my spine straight, my head high. The driver who’d brought me looked shocked. “Mrs. Rivers, is everything all right?”
“Take me home, please,” I said, settling into the back seat. As we pulled away from Green Valley Estate, I pulled out my phone and called Martin.
“Martin,” I said when he answered, “I need you to draft a lawsuit. Fraud. Breach of contract. Elder financial abuse. Everything we discussed.”
“What happened?” he asked, concern evident in his voice.
“They didn’t put me on the guest list,” I said simply. “I just paid one hundred twenty-seven thousand dollars for a wedding I wasn’t allowed to attend.”
Martin was quiet for a moment. Then: “I’ll have the papers ready by tomorrow morning. Amelia, I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,” I said, surprised by the steadiness in my own voice. “Just make sure they understand what they’ve done.”