Chapter 22: The Wrong Address

Brooke's POV

By half past six my living room held forty people and a television.

The television was Gabe's, carried across the street, and it showed a live stream with twenty-two thousand viewers.

The Prescott Table was broadcasting from a restaurant in Gig Harbor with a glass wall that faced south.

Colby, Brent and Tori sat at a long table set for twelve.

The room behind them was empty, because nobody else had been invited.

"They found it," said the bedding rep, with her wine glass held up like a toast. "They actually found it."

"They found the wrong one," I said.

On the screen, Tori tilted her phone toward the table.

Every plate had a printed card on it, in white ink on black.

Brooke Halvorsen's rule, it said. Real family doesn't need to ask. If you guess wrong, you pay the extra costs.

I had mailed the restaurant the cards and the deposit on Thursday, in the name of The Prescott Table LLC, with the booking for twelve.

It was the family's own name for itself. I had only used it once.

"Where's Kendra?" Brent said on the screen. He had his napkin tucked in his collar. "She said she'd be right behind us."

"She texted," said Tori. "She's parking."

Colby didn't answer. He sat with his arms folded, looking at the empty chairs.

Across my living room, the lock company's regional director leaned toward his cameraman and said something quietly.

A waiter appeared at the table with a black leather folder.

"Good evening," he said. "The party of twelve is pre-ordered. The tasting menu is eight courses, with the wine pairing, and a private-room fee."

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