a rustic photo backdrop — it was my father’s life’s work. But Marcus kept pushing, reminding me that half his suppliers and investors were already flying in, and Dale quietly asked if I could just try to be flexible, just this once.
Eventually, I agreed. But I laid out the rules clearly.
“Nothing gets sold. Nothing gets moved permanently. Everything goes back exactly where it was when the night is over.”
“Of course,” he said. “I’d never touch Dad’s stuff like that.”
On the morning of the launch, my mother had
