Chapter 2 - The Twenty Dishes
The next afternoon, the Sutherland estate was packed with fifty of the city’s elite. Marguerite stood in a St. John knit suit, holding a flute of champagne, accepting praise for “hosting” such a magnificent event. Weston paced near the kitchen door, his face dark with suppressed rage, expecting Brynn to have fled town in humiliation.
Instead, the security gates buzzed.
A refrigerated delivery van pulled up to the service entrance. Two men in uniform stepped out, wheeling in heavy commercial catering warmers bearing high-end labels.
Marguerite blinked, her guests turning in curiosity. “What is this?”
Brynn stepped out from behind the delivery van. She wore a tailored emerald silk dress—a dress Weston had never bought her, purchased with her own independent consulting fees she had secretly saved. Her hair was swept up, and her posture was steel.
“You wanted twenty dishes, Marguerite,” Brynn’s voice carried clearly across the manicured lawn and into the silent courtyard. “And as always, I delivered.”
Weston rushed forward, his face flushed. “What the hell is this, Brynn? Where have you been?”
“Bringing you your menu,” Brynn smiled coldly. She motioned to the delivery men, who began unlocking the warmers.
Instead of roast beef or glazed ham, the first silver platter was opened. Inside sat a neatly framed copy of the original corporate tax returns for Marguerite’s boutique—highlighting systemic fraud.
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The second platter was opened: mortgage fraud indictments bearing Weston’s signature, forged on properties they didn't legally own outright.
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Several of Marguerite’s wealthy friends stepped back as if physical contagion had been released.
