Chapter 6 - The Digital Counter-Offensive
I didn't call my mother. Instead, I dialed Priya’s cell phone directly through WhatsApp, bypassing standard cellular routing to avoid any unexpected long-distance charges or tracking issues.
Priya answered on the second ring, her voice sounding frantic and breathless, as if she had been running across an event floor. "Clara! Oh, thank God. Are you guys okay in Portugal? Your mother has been a absolute nightmare!"
"Take a deep breath, Priya," I said, keeping my tone steady and professional, channeling the unflappable demeanor I used when managing a bride whose wedding cake had melted in a July heatwave. "Tell me what’s happening on the ground."
"It's a circus," Priya groaned over the line. "On Monday morning, right after the wedding weekend, Donna showed up at your office with Kayla and Tyler in tow. She demanded the master keys to your condo, claiming you'd promised them the space as a wedding gift. When I told her I didn't have your keys and that the condo was already leased to Dana Kim, Donna lost her mind."
"I heard she called the police," I noted.
"She did!" Priya confirmed indignantly. "Two squad cars showed up at your building. Glenn had to show the officers Dana’s signed one-year lease and proof of residency. The cops told Donna and Kayla to leave the premises or face trespassing charges. But that didn't stop her. Yesterday, she and Tyler parked themselves in the lobby coffee shop across the street from Brandt Events, buttonholing our walk-in clients and telling anyone who would listen that you're an unfilial, cruel daughter who abandoned your pregnant sister."
I felt a cold flash of anger, sharp and clear. Brandt Events was my life's work. I had built that business from the ground up, brick by brick, earning every glowing review and referral through sheer hard work and meticulous organization. For my mother to actively sabotage my professional reputation out of spite was a line I hadn't expected her to cross so brazenly.
"Have we lost any clients?" I asked, my voice dropping an octave.
"Not yet," Priya said reassuringly. "I’ve been intercepting walk-ins, and I called our three upcoming autumn brides personally to reassure them that operations are running normally. But Donna is sitting out there with a placard—well, not a placard, but she's talking loudly to everyone who walks through the front doors of the commercial park. She's making a scene."
"Okay," I said, my mind clicking into strategic planning mode. "Here is what we are going to do, Priya. First, I want you to email our building's commercial property management team and request a formal trespassing notice for Donna Brandt and Tyler Hollis. If they set foot within fifty feet of the office building again, security is authorized to escort them off the property."
"Done," Priya replied instantly. "I drafted that letter this morning just in case. I just needed your approval to send it."
"Second," I continued, feeling a grim sense of satisfaction, "I want you to draft a formal statement from Brandt Events and email it to our entire vendor network and current client roster. Keep it professional. State clearly that Brandt Events is operating under normal business management, and any unverified claims made by third parties regarding company ownership or personal disputes are entirely false and unauthorized."
"That's brilliant," Priya said, her voice picking up speed. "It cuts the legs right out from under her gossip before it can take root."
"Last thing," I added. "Send a quick text to Aunt Ruth and let her know I'm safe, I'm in Portugal, and I'm handling everything. Tell her I love her."
"Consider it handled, boss," Priya said, her tone brimming with newfound admiration. "Enjoy your honeymoon. We've got this covered here."
I hung up the phone and looked up at Owen, who had been listening to every word. A slow, approving smile spread across his face.
"You sound like a general mobilizing an army," he teased gently.
May you like
"I spent a decade managing bridal parties, Owen," I replied, slipping the phone back into my pocket. "Managing a toddler-level tantrum from my mother is practically a walk in the park."
***
