Chapter 2 - The Receipts
Madison chose a coffee shop three neighborhoods away from her apartment.
When I arrived, she was already sitting in the back corner.
No makeup.
Baseball cap.
Dark glasses.
She looked nothing like the polished woman from the engagement photographs.
I placed a folder on the table.
She stared at it.
“That is all wedding stuff?”
“Most.”
I opened it.
Cedar Grove Estate.
$38,500 paid.
Florist.
$12,840.
Photographer.
$9,600.
Band deposit.
$8,000.
Catering.
$17,200.
Transportation.
$6,750.
Rentals.
Cake.
Lighting.
Welcome dinner.
Hotel blocks.
Invitation designer.
By the time I finished, Madison wasn't touching her coffee anymore.
“Why would you do this?”
It was the same question Rebecca had asked without asking.
“Because my family asked.”
“That isn't an answer.”
“No.”
I looked at the papers.
“Julian was always the one who needed help.”
“With money?”
“With everything.”
When we were kids, Julian crashed Dad's car at seventeen.
Dad called it youthful stupidity.
When I dented the garage door at sixteen, I worked all summer to pay for it.
Julian dropped out of graduate school.
Mom told everyone the program wasn't right for him.
He opened a restaurant.
It failed.
Dad paid the suppliers.
He started a marketing agency.
Closed within fourteen months.
I paid one employee's final wages because Julian claimed payroll had been “temporarily delayed.”
Somewhere along the way, helping Julian stopped being an emergency and became our family culture.
Madison slowly turned through the invoices.
“He told my father he paid for all this.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
“He said his trust became available last year.”
“There is no trust that I'm aware of.”
“He showed us statements.”
“What kind?”
“Investment accounts.”
“Can you get copies?”
She hesitated.
“My father probably has them.”
“Why?”
Madison looked embarrassed.
“Because Julian asked my dad to invest in his company.”
I sat back.
“What company?”
“North Row Development.”
I knew the name.
Julian had talked about launching a luxury real-estate investment platform.
I assumed it was another idea.
“How much?”
“My father hasn't invested yet.”
Relief.
“But Julian asked for eight hundred thousand dollars.”
There it was.
The wedding was not simply a wedding.
It was a performance.
Madison's father, Robert Cole, owned a regional construction business worth tens of millions.
Julian wasn't marrying only into a family.
He was selling them a version of himself.
Trust fund.
Old money.
Luxury wedding.
Successful investor.
And I had unknowingly financed the scenery.
“Madison.”
She looked at me.
“Did Julian ever tell you what I do?”
“He said you're a middle manager.”
I almost laughed.
I was a senior strategy director at a national infrastructure company.
Currently being considered for executive vice president.
“He said you were jealous because the family always expected more from him.”
That actually made me laugh.
Madison covered her mouth.
“I am so sorry.”
“You didn't write the message.”
“Still.”
She looked down.
“Yesterday, before the group chat, Julian told me you had become unstable about money.”
“Convenient.”
“He said you were demanding a place in the wedding party because you had helped with some expenses.”
“Did you know I wasn't in the wedding party?”
“I thought you declined.”
Of course.
“He told me you hated attention.”
“I do.”
“But you never declined?”
“No one asked.”
Madison stared at the receipts again.
“Why ban you completely?”
“That is what I'm starting to wonder.”
Her phone vibrated.
Julian.
She declined.
Then another message.
Then another.
“He knows I'm not home.”
“Madison, don't get dragged into something dangerous because you're angry.”
She looked at me.
“Do you think he's dangerous?”
“No.”
I paused.
“I think he's desperate.”
That might be worse financially.
She gathered copies of several invoices.
“I need to speak to my father.”
“Don't accuse Julian of anything you can't prove.”
“You sound like a lawyer.”
“I sound like someone whose boss told him yesterday that assumptions are expensive.”
She almost smiled.
Then she stopped.
“Evan.”
“Yes?”
“One more thing.”
“What?”
“The reason Julian said you couldn't attend.”
Finally.
“He told me?”
“No.”
“Your mother did.”
My stomach tightened.
“What did she say?”
“That my parents are very traditional.”
“And?”
“That you might embarrass the family.”
I stared.
“How?”
“She said you had financial problems.”
For the first time, I couldn't speak.
I had spent months draining my savings to finance their wedding.
And behind my back, my family had apparently told the bride's wealthy parents that I was the broke one.
Madison continued.
“She said you'd borrowed money from your parents.”
Never.
“She said you were having trouble at work.”
False.
“And that you might ask my father for money.”
I understood.
They weren't simply hiding who paid.
They were discrediting me in advance.
If I attended the wedding and somebody mentioned money, Julian's entire story could collapse.
I closed the folder.
“Madison.”
“Yes?”
“Do not give Julian any more financial documents from your family.”
Her face went pale.
“You think he wants to steal from us?”
“I don't know.”
“But?”
“But yesterday I thought my brother was an entitled idiot.”
May you like
I looked toward the street.
“Today I'm starting to think he's an entitled idiot with a plan.”
