Part 2
Courtney stopped smiling the moment she saw us standing ten steps away from her birthday cake. “Do not you dare come any closer,” she shouted while gripping the silver serving knife.
The guests formed a wide circle around us as the only sound was the hum of the inflatable castle and the wind in the trees. I stopped walking while Hudson and Parker stayed by my side, looking very calm.
“I am calling the police right now,” she said while pulling a phone out of her dress. I stared at her without blinking and gave Parker a very slight signal with my head.
What happened next lasted less than three seconds. My son shot forward like a spring, stuck both hands into the bottom tier of the cake, and threw it straight at Courtney’s face.
The cream, bread, and sugar flowers exploded across her forehead and chin. Her tiara was knocked crooked and her white dress was instantly ruined with pink meringue.
For a second, nobody moved. Then Hudson grabbed a huge piece from the third tier and threw it at a woman with a fancy headdress standing next to Courtney.
It hit her squarely on the shoulder and she let out a high-pitched scream that broke the silence. That was when everything exploded into total chaos.
A boy grabbed frosting from the table and threw it at his friend. A man accidentally got frosting on his wife, so she poured her drink over his head.
The kids from the bouncy castle ran toward the table as if they had been waiting for permission to join the war. In less than a minute, my ranch had turned into a free-for-all of flying cake and hysterical laughter.
The DJ froze for twenty seconds before he turned the music up to full volume. Courtney stayed in the middle of the mess, screaming for everyone to stop with her face dripping in cream.
She was no longer the queen of the ranch, but just a furious woman in the middle of an absurd war built on a lie. It took twelve minutes for the cake to disappear and for the inflatable to deflate.
The sheriff’s deputies arrived eleven minutes after that. Courtney ran toward the first officer while crying and trying to fix her ruined dress.
“Thank God you are here!” she exclaimed. “Those savages entered my property and attacked my guests, so I want them arrested!” The deputy observed her face covered in cream and the destroyed table in silence.
Then he walked up to me and asked if the property belonged to her. “No, it is mine,” I replied.
“Can you prove it to me?” he asked. “Give me just a few minutes,” I told him.
He nodded once and held my gaze. A guest nearby whispered that Courtney had insisted for weeks that she had bought the ranch.
