I looked through the cooler window at my father laughing while drinking coffee I brewed for him.
“In ten days,” I said. “The same day I leave the country.”
Real revenge doesn’t always scream.
Sometimes it looks like paperwork.
During the next week, I dismantled Cook Catering piece by piece.
I removed my personal credit cards from vendor accounts.
Seafood suppliers.
Rental companies.
Produce distributors.
Everything.
I switched all payments to cash on delivery knowing my parents had no available cash.
I scheduled dissolution paperwork to file automatically the exact morning of Harper’s luxury baby shower.
Then I planted bait.
A fake airline ticket to New York.
LaGuardia. Terminal B. Saturday departure.
I left it sticking out of a culinary magazine in my father’s office just enough for him to notice.
Two days later, I watched him discover it.
He smiled.
He thought he had outsmarted me.
