Chapter 3 - THE SERVING PLATTER
The woman stepped past Julian into the foyer, holding a crisp white envelope in her gloved hands.
The room fell dead silent. The classical music seemed to choke out. Forty pairs of eyes turned away from the champagne towers and focused entirely on the front door.
"What is the meaning of this?" Fiona demanded, bustling toward the foyer, her gold dress swishing loudly. "Who let these people up the elevator? This is a private residence!"
"Fiona Miller?" the female process server asked calmly, pulling a second thick document from her bag. "We have papers for you as well."
"Me?!" Fiona shrieked, backing away as if handed a venomous snake. "Julian, call security! Call the building manager immediately!"
Julian reached for his pocket, his hands trembling as he pulled out his phone, but the male server stepped into his line of sight, handing him a blue-stamped legal folder.
"Mr. Miller, you are hereby served with an Emergency Motion for Exclusive Possession of the Marital Property, an Emergency Order of Protection, and a Summons for Dissolution of Marriage filed in the Circuit Court of Cook County," the server announced in a clear, booming voice that reached every corner of the penthouse.
A collective gasp rippled through the assembled guests.
Fiona’s champagne glass slipped from her fingers, shattering on the white marble floor. Champagne splashed across her gold hem.
"What... what is this?" Julian stammered, his face draining of all color. He frantically opened the folder, his eyes scanning the bold black text at the top of the first page.
PETITIONER: SLOAN MILLER. RESPONDENT: JULIAN MILLER. GROUNDS: EXTREME DOMESTIC ABUSE, UNLAWFUL RESTRAINT, FINANCIAL FRAUD.
"This is a mistake," Julian stuttered, looking up, his eyes wild as he searched the room for me. "Sloan! Sloan, get out here right now! What crazy stunt are you pulling?!"
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I untied my apron, set it neatly on the marble kitchen island, and walked slowly into the center of the living room, stepping right into the middle of his party.
"It’s no mistake, Julian," I said smoothly, folding my arms. "You wanted sixty dishes to honor your mother. Consider this the first course."
