“Ms. Bennett, we need payment authorization immediately. We have oysters, lobster tails, filet, and wine sitting in refrigerated trucks.”
“I’m not Ms. Bennett!” Brittany yelled.
The caterer blinked.
Then pointed at me on the phone.
“You told us she was.”
That was the first major problem.
The second appeared seconds later.
The caterer opened an email confirmation and read the billing information.
Claire Bennett.
My old home address.
My phone number.
And the last four digits of a credit card I had canceled six months earlier.
Someone hadn’t merely planned a party without permission.
Someone had impersonated me.
Dad suddenly stepped into view.
“That’s enough. Claire, just pay the vendors and we’ll deal with everything later.”
I stared at him.
“You knew about this?”
His silence answered before he did.
Mom hissed:
“Robert, don’t.”
Unfortunately for them, the deputy heard her.
“So Mr. Bennett knew about the agreement?”
