I looked inside.

Chase had the microphone again.

“Where’s our local beggar?” he shouted.

Everyone laughed.

I walked back into the ballroom.

Richard spotted me.

“There he is!”

I crossed the room slowly.

No anger.

No shouting.

No scene.

I simply extended my hand.

Chase grinned and gave me the microphone.

“Careful,” he whispered. “These people aren’t used to farm speeches.”

I looked at him.

Then Richard.

Then my daughter.

And smiled.

“You’re right, Chase,” I said. “I didn’t pay for this wedding.”

His family laughed.

I paused.

“I paid for the building.”

The laughter died.

Chase stared.

Richard stopped smiling.

I continued.

“The vineyard supplying your wine is owned by Miller Agricultural Estates. The hotel your family reserved is operated by another company under Miller Holdings.”

Someone near the front whispered, “Miller Holdings?”

Richard shot to his feet.

“That’s impossible.”

I looked at him.

“You know the name?”

He did.

His face told the room.