Then Madison announced her wedding.
She was marrying Preston Alcott, whose family had old money.
Not newly successful money.
Generational money.
The kind that had existed long enough for everyone to act as though it had always been there.
The wedding wasn’t simply a celebration.
It was an event.
A statement.
A carefully organized display of status.
The venue was a restored estate in the Connecticut countryside.
Expensive.
Elegant.
Perfectly manicured.
Exactly the kind of setting my mother had dreamed about for years.
I almost didn’t attend.
Daniel convinced me
