At first, I assumed it had something to do with money. Maybe one of the vendors had charged too much. Maybe the florist had ruined something. My son, Ethan, had married a woman named Vanessa at an old vineyard estate outside Napa, and I had covered almost the entire cost because Ethan said he wanted one flawless day before real life became serious. SupportCauses
I was a widower. My two children were all I had left.
So the next morning, I drove to the wedding venue by myself.
The coordinator, Claire Benson, met me in her office with red eyes and shaking hands. After I stepped inside, she locked the door.
“I didn’t know whether to call the police first,” she said.
My stomach clenched. “Claire, what is this?”
She opened her laptop. “After the reception, I was cleaning up near the bridal suite. My phone was still recording voice notes for vendor timing because we had a dispute about the schedule. I accidentally recorded your children talking.”
“My children?”
