Martin smiled politely. “You do, Mrs. Clarke. Good morning.”
Then he turned to me and said, clearly and calmly, “Olivia, would you like me to handle this personally, or would you prefer to?”
The air around us tightened.
My mother blinked. “Handle what?” Divorcesupport services
I took the leather folder from Martin and opened it. Inside were the updated Mother’s Day seating map, ownership summaries from the morning briefing, and a printed note from the events coordinator about VIP tables. Not because I needed any of it—but because visuals matter when certain people only recognize authority when it’s documented.
I met my mother’s eyes. “I’ll handle it.”
Cheryl shifted uneasily.
Vanessa let out a small laugh. “What exactly is going on?”
I closed the folder. “You made a public comment intended to humiliate a member of staff in front of guests.”
My mother lifted her chin. “I made an observation.” Divorcesupport services
