"They should have gone with the Fairmont over in Riverbend,” Rob announced before Ben had even finished adjusting his jacket. "Half the cost, twice the parking. But Celia let Mom take over the planning, and Mom has always been a sucker for Victorians."
"It's a nice venue," Kelly said.
"Nice doesn't mean smart. You know what the rental fee is for this place? I could tell you, but you'd choke." Rob shook his head with the gravity of a man who had personally reviewed the invoices. "And the flowers. Don't get me started on the flowers. You can get the same roses from Costco for a fraction of the price. Nobody knows the difference."
"The table favors are nice, though," Rob's wife offered. “I saw them on the way in.”
"They're candy," Rob said, dismissing them with a wave. "Personalized candy. Do you know the markup on personalized candy?"
"I do not," Ben replied, which was true and which he hoped would end that particular thread of conversation.
It did not.
"Forty percent," Rob informed him. "At minimum. I priced it out when we were planning our wedding. We went with custom coasters instead. Much more practical. People actually use coasters."
Ben caught Kelly's eye. She gave him a look that said, roughly translated, welcome to my life.
Rob shifted in his chair and stretched his legs out, crossing them at the ankle.
"Trevor actually asked me to be his Best Man, you know. I had to turn him down. Couldn't swing it with my schedule. Tax season prep starts earlier every year, and I had three major clients restructuring their portfolios. Couldn't commit to the rehearsals, the bachelor party, and all that. I told him, Trev, I'm honored, but I've got responsibilities."
Lisa, who had been studying her program with renewed focus, performed the subtlest eye roll Ben had ever witnessed. It was a masterwork of restraint. The eyes moved approximately two millimeters upward, held for a fraction of a second, then returned to neutral. If Ben hadn't been watching, he would have missed it entirely. He got the distinct impression this wasn't the first time she'd heard this particular story, and that its accuracy hadn't improved with repetition.
"That's too bad," Ben said, because something was required of him.
"It is what it is," Rob replied, his voice carrying the martyred tone of a man who had sacrificed greatly for the greater good. "Anyway. Enough about the wedding."
And then Rob did something Ben hadn't anticipated. He pivoted. Completely, seamlessly, with the practiced smoothness of a man who had been waiting for exactly this opportunity.
"So, Ben. I did some reading about you last night. Fascinating stuff."
Ben's shoulders tightened by a fraction, but he kept his expression neutral. His gut was already screaming as to what was next.
"The buyout was all over the financial press," Rob continued, leaning slightly forward in his chair. "That was your company, wasn't it? The data analysis firm? From what I read, you built that thing from the ground up."
There it was. David Bateman hadn't just investigated Ben. He'd shared his findings with Rob. The family intelligence network was apparently alive and well.
"It was a partnership," Ben said carefully. "Three of us built it together."
"Sure, sure. But you were the operational guy, right? The one who ran the day-to-day. The articles I read made it sound like Harrington was the genius inventor and Thorogood was the money man, but you were the one keeping the trains running. They couldn’t have done it without you.”
The company had needed all three of them to be successful. End of story.
Ben didn't like where this was heading. Not one little bit.
Rob's sudden interest in his professional background felt less like friendly curiosity and more like reconnaissance. The man who had tried to belittle him at the rehearsal dinner with depreciation jargon was now praising him with specific details he could only have gotten from some lengthy research.
"That's a generous description," Ben said.
"Don't be modest," Rob pressed. "The company was valued at, what, sixty or seventy million before Harrington pulled the plug? That's serious money. Serious business. I respect that."
Rob's wife glanced up from her program again, a flicker of surprise crossing her features. Rob respecting someone else's achievements was apparently an uncommon occurrence.
"Thanks," Ben said, the single word designed to end the conversation. It didn't work.
"Here's what I'm thinking," Rob said, and the words carried the unmistakable weight of a pitch. He turned his body, his knee nearly touching Ben's. "You've got the track record. The connections. The reputation. And I've got the financial expertise, the local knowledge, the relationships in this community. Between the two of us, we could do something real."
Christ on a unicycle.
