MY SON’S FIANCÉE SAT AT SUNDAY LUNCH IN THE ADOLPHUS AND DEMANDED A $2M “DREAM WEDDING” LIKE I WAS AN ATM—WHILE HER MOTHER CALLED IT “FAMILY STANDARDS.” UNDER THE TABLE, MY SON SLIPPED ME A NOTE: “DAD, SHE’S A SCAMMER. HELP.” I STAYED CALM… AND LET HER KEEP TALKING. THEN I SAID TWO WORDS—AND HER SMILE FROZE… BECAUSE SHE REALIZED TOO LATE WHO SHE WAS REALLY DEALING WITH.

Vanessa flipped the portfolio open and slid glossy pages toward me: photos of ballrooms, floral arches, chandeliers, ice sculptures, dresses that looked like clouds made of money.

“We’ve worked with a top wedding planner,” she continued, “and we’ve determined that for the wedding we envision, we’ll need two million dollars.”

My scotch arrived. I took a slow sip, letting the burn give my face a reason to remain calm.

“Two million,” I repeated, neutral. “That’s quite specific.”

“Oh, it breaks down very precisely,” Vanessa said, warming to the subject. Her eyes gleamed in a way I’d seen before in deposition rooms when a witness thought they had the perfect story rehearsed. “Eight hundred thousand for the venue alone. We’re looking at the Rosewood Mansion on Turtle Creek for three hundred guests. Then four hundred thousand for floral arrangements and décor. I’ve always dreamed of having cherry blossoms flown in from Japan.”

She said it casually, like flying in cherry blossoms was a normal thing people did when they loved someone.

“And the ice sculptures alone,” she added, “will be another two hundred thousand.”

Kevin’s jaw clenched. I could see the muscle jump.