“I see. And you’re requesting that we escort your daughter off the premises immediately?”
“She’s violating the dress code and embarrassing my family. I’m on the board, Patricia. You know how important appearances are here.”
“Indeed.” Patricia’s expression was neutral, professional. “And this is your formal request to have her removed?”
“Yes. Get us the owner if you need authorization. I want this handled now.”
Mom and Vanessa had followed us inside, probably to watch my humiliation firsthand. Mom crossed her arms.
“This is exactly why we stopped inviting you to family events, Emma. You have no sense of decorum.”
Vanessa added, “Honestly, it’s like you tried to embarrass us.”
Patricia held up one hand.
“One moment, please.”
She pulled out her radio.
“Security to the main lobby, please. And can someone locate Miss Hartley for me?”
Dad looked satisfied.
“Thank you. It’s unfortunate, but standards must be maintained.”
“Absolutely,” Patricia agreed. “Standards are extremely important.”
Two security officers arrived, both in professional suits rather than traditional guard uniforms. The West Bridge prided itself on understated security, keeping problems invisible to the members.
“Wait here, please,” Patricia said, then disappeared through another door.
We stood in awkward silence. Dad checked his phone. Mom examined her manicure. Vanessa scrolled through Instagram, probably already composing a message to her friends about her tragic sister’s latest disaster. I waited, my heart beating faster than I expected.
Patricia returned after three minutes, but she was not alone. She was accompanied by a woman in her sixties wearing an elegant pantsuit: Catherine Brennan, the club’s director of operations and the person who actually ran the day-to-day management.
Behind them was someone else: my assistant, Jordan, carrying a leather portfolio.
“Mr. Hartley,” Catherine said formally, “I understand you’ve requested the owner’s intervention regarding a dress code violation.”
“Yes,” Dad said, looking pleased that they were taking this seriously. “My daughter is dressed inappropriately, and I want her removed. If the owner needs to sign off on this, fine. But it needs to happen now.”
Catherine nodded slowly.
“The owner is here, actually.” She turned toward me. “Miss Hartley, would you like to address this personally?”
Dad followed her gaze, confused.
“What?”
Patricia stepped forward, speaking clearly for everyone to hear.
“Mr. Hartley, allow me to properly introduce Emma Hartley. She is the owner of the West Bridge Country Club. She purchased the property eight months ago through Hartley Hospitality Group.”