The vacation.

I had almost forgotten.

Three weeks around the Mediterranean.

First-class airfare.

Luxury suites.

Private drivers.

Exclusive restaurants.

Private tours.

A chartered yacht day.

Everything.

Nearly one hundred and fifty thousand dollars.

Paid by me.

It was supposed to be my anniversary gift to my parents.

Vanessa had naturally invited herself.

Dad raised his wineglass.

“You’ll get over it.”

I looked at him.

Then at Mom.

Then Vanessa.

All three looked certain I would calm down.

Because I always did.

I smiled.

“Have a good evening.”

Dad smiled back.

He thought he had won.

Outside, Clara broke.

The second the front door closed behind us, tears started falling.

“I’m sorry.”

That stopped me.

“For what?”

“I shouldn’t have sat there.”

I stared at her.

“Clara.”

“I should have waited.”

“No.”

“I don’t want you fighting with them because of me.”

I touched her face.

“This is not because of you.”

She cried harder.

“My stomach hurts.”

Everything else disappeared.

“What kind of hurt?”

“Cramping.”

I got her into the car.

“We’re going to the hospital.”

“Arthur—”

“No argument.”

The drive felt endless.

Fortunately, Sophie was fine.

The doctor said the cramping appeared stress-related.

Clara needed rest.

No more emotional strain.

I nearly laughed at the irony.

At home, I helped Clara shower.

Made tea.

Sat beside her until she fell asleep.

Then I walked into my study.

11:47 p.m.

I opened my laptop.

The travel itinerary appeared.

Richard Bennett.

Eleanor Bennett.

Vanessa Bennett.

I called the concierge.

“Mr. Bennett, how can I assist you?”

“I need to cancel a trip.”

“Certainly. Which passenger?”

“All of them.”

A pause.

“Sir, several components are nonrefundable.”

“I know.”

“The loss may be significant.”

“I know.”

“We could preserve some value with credits.”

“No.”

Another pause.

“Cancel everything?”

“Everything.”

Flights.

Hotels.

Transfers.

Excursions.

Airport lounge.

Yacht.

Restaurants.

All gone.

The representative confirmed it.

I ended the call.

Then I noticed an email chain from my assistant.

Vanessa had tried to add airport VIP services without authorization.

When my assistant refused, Vanessa created fake confirmation documents using old screenshots from my corporate travel account.

Fake lounge reservations.

Fake priority-security access.

Fake black-car paperwork.

I stared at the emails.

That was Vanessa.

Pretend first.

Force someone else to make it real later.

I forwarded everything to my attorney.

Then I turned off my phone.

Saturday passed.

No contact.

Sunday too.

They apparently believed I would fix everything before departure.

I did not.

Monday morning, I turned my phone on.

Twenty-three missed calls.

Then messages.

Vanessa:

WHAT DID YOU DO?

Another:

SECURITY WON’T LET US THROUGH.

Then Dad.

CALL ME NOW.

Mom:

THIS IS HUMILIATING.

Then the message that made me smile without feeling happy.

THEY SAY OUR RESERVATIONS DON’T EXIST.

I sat behind my desk looking over the city.

For ten years, every crisis in my family automatically became mine.

Not anymore.

I placed the phone facedown.

My assistant knocked.

“Arthur?”

“Yes?”

She looked nervous.