“Hey, man, just checking in,” Elijah said brightly. “Did you show them the final itinerary with the yacht? How insanely excited are they?”
I broke down, crying all over again. It took me a solid ten minutes to explain exactly what had just happened in that living room.
I told him about the brutal ultimatum my dad delivered. I told him about the pawned necklace. I told him about my dad explicitly saying Isabella deserved the luxury trip more than I did.
Elijah was dead silent on the other end of the line. The silence stretched on for so long I thought the call had dropped. Then his voice came through the speaker, incredibly low, focused, and fierce.
“Mason, listen to me very, very carefully. They did exactly what to you?”
“They kicked me off my own trip.” I sniffled, wiping my nose with the back of my hand. “I guess I just have to accept it and eat the cost. If I maliciously cancel the whole thing, I will just be the villain forever. They will constantly blame me for ruining their big anniversary.”
“Stop,” Elijah commanded sharply. “Stop right now. Do you hear yourself talking? You are still desperately trying to please people who just violently ripped your heart out and stepped on it. You planned every second of this trip. You paid for every single dime. Who is the primary contact on the actual reservations?”
“I am,” I said, blinking away the tears. “Everything is completely booked through my personal travel agent, Dylan. It is all firmly under my name and my corporate credit card.”
“Exactly,” Elijah said. “And I could hear a slow, dangerous smile forming in his voice.”
Part 3
“They boldly told you that gifts belong to the recipient. Fine, let them have that logic. But you hold the keys to the castle, Mason.”
“You are the one who actually decides what the physical gift is. I’m not saying you angrily cancel the trip and strand them. I’m saying you generously give them exactly the trip they deserve.”
I sat up completely straight in the driver’s seat. The suffocating fog of sadness instantly began to lift from my brain, rapidly replaced by a sharp, crystal-clear, blinding focus. The reservations are fully in my name, I muttered to myself, the realization washing over me.
“You hold all the cards, man,” Elijah said. “Don’t let them walk all over you like a doormat. They demand a free trip. Give them a free trip. Just make sure it perfectly fits the budget of a guy who got maliciously kicked to the curb.”
The very next morning, at exactly eight a.m. sharp, I picked up my phone and called Dylan, my travel agent. “Dylan, it’s Mason. We need to make some massive immediate changes to the Dubai booking.”
“Oh, hi, Mason,” Dylan said cheerfully, his keyboard clicking as he pulled up my extensive file. “What’s going on? We are only a few weeks out from departure. Are we adding another special dinner reservation?”
“No,” I said, my voice completely steady and completely devoid of emotion. “I am no longer going on the trip. My brother’s new fiancée, Isabella, will be taking my place. Please officially change the name on my flight ticket to hers.”
“Oh wow. I’m so incredibly sorry to hear you won’t be going,” Dylan said, sounding genuinely disappointed. “I will make the name change right now. There is a small administrative fee for that, but it’s no problem at all.”
“That’s not all,” I continued, staring blankly at my office wall. “I need you to immediately cancel the first-class Emirates flights for all four of them. Rebook them in standard economy. The absolute cheapest nonrefundable seats you can possibly find on the plane. Try to get them middle seats near the back if you can.”
Dylan completely stopped typing. The line went quiet. “Wait, you want to downgrade four luxury first-class international tickets to basic economy? Mason, are you sure? That is a grueling, exhausting fourteen-hour flight.”
“I am absolutely positive.”
“Okay,” Dylan said hesitantly, the clicking resuming slowly. “Done. The refund difference for that alone is massive. What about the hotel? The Burj Al Arab?”
“Cancel it,” I ordered coldly. “Cancel the massive suites. Find a basic three-star hotel on the far outskirts of the city. Something deep in Deira. Safe, but absolutely punishingly basic. No ocean views. No luxury amenities. Just two standard double rooms with twin beds.”
“Mason, Deira is miles away from the glamorous tourist center,” Dylan warned, his voice thick with concern. “It is going to take them an hour sitting in heavy traffic just to get to the Burj Khalifa. This completely fundamentally changes the nature of the entire trip.”
“That is exactly the goal. Dylan, also cancel the private sunset desert safari. Cancel the private luxury yacht. Cancel the VIP fast-track tickets to the Burj Khalifa. Cancel the airport limo transfers. Book them a standard shared shuttle bus from the airport and leave the rest of their itinerary completely blank. They can figure out their own cheap activities.”
I could clearly hear Dylan breathing heavily on the phone. “Mason, I have to ask, are you okay? This is a complete savage gutting of a twenty-six-thousand-dollar luxury experience. They are going to have a very, very rough time.”
“My family circumstances dramatically changed,” I said. “And so did the budget for their anniversary gift.”
“All right,” Dylan sighed deeply. “With all these extreme cancellations and downgrades, you are getting a massive refund credited back to your account. We are talking over eighteen thousand dollars. Do you want me to just refund it directly to your corporate card?”
I looked at the beautiful Chicago skyline out my office window. I thought about Isabella’s smug, victorious smile. I thought about my dad telling me I didn’t deserve a seat at the table.