Mother-in-law threw unpaid “small” party at my restaurant, m0cked me as servant. I dropped a $48K bill beside her champagne—then her phone lit up: Ethan calling.

“She called from a blocked number. Said you approved it.”

“Did she sign anything?”

“No contract. No deposit. But we have emails confirming everything—menu, wine, guests, valet, flowers.”

“How many people?”

“Fifty-two.”

“And she’s still adding things.”

I closed my eyes for a second.

“Where’s Ethan?”

“At work.”

He had no idea.