I was happy, too. Or at least, I was trying to be. I held my breath until the reception, until the dinner was served and the wine was poured. Then, the moment for the toasts arrived.

The bride’s father, Mr. Robert Harrison, took the microphone. He was a heavy-set man, built like a bulldog in a three-thousand-dollar tuxedo, with a voice that rumbled from deep within his chest. He was the owner of Harrison & Associates, a construction empire that dominated the city’s skyline. Everyone knew him. Everyone respected him—or so they thought.

He raised his glass of vintage champagne, the bubbles catching the light of the crystal chandeliers. The room went silent.