“You planned this!” Carter shouted, pointing a shaking finger at me. “You set me up! You brought a whole damn legal team to our wedding just to humiliate me in front of my friends!”
“I brought a legal team for protection, Carter,” I replied, my voice dropping to a dangerous, icy whisper. “Because unlike you, I do my homework. I knew exactly what you were planning to do tonight.”
Sarah pulled out a second, thicker document from her briefcase, the pages heavily flagged with red sticky notes.
“Document exhibit B: A comprehensive forensic accounting report compiled over the last ninety days,” Sarah announced.
Sarah held the thick report up for the room to see. “For the past six months, your husband, Carter Hale, has been illegally using your investment firm’s credentials to secure massive, private, uncollateralized loans. He forged your electronic signature, used your personal, debt-free real estate portfolio as collateral without your knowledge, and funneled the cash directly into offshore shell accounts managed entirely by his brother, Brooks.”
Brooks shot up from his chair at table number four, knocking his crystal water glass over. The water spilled across the silk tablecloth, dripping onto the floor.
“That’s a lie! That is slander!” Brooks screamed, his voice pitching high with terror. “I have nothing to do with Carter’s financial mess! I run my own businesses!”
“Shut up, Brooks, you idiot!” Carter roared back, turning on his own brother.
“Are you absolutely sure about that, Brooks?” I asked, stepping out from behind the wall of security guards. I turned toward the AV booth situated at the far back of the room and gave a sharp, definitive nod to the technician.
The massive, thirty-foot LED screen behind the wedding cake—which had been playing a soft, romantic, looped slideshow of our engagement photos taken in Paris—suddenly glitched and went pitch black. The romantic string quartet music that had been playing softly over the speakers cut off abruptly.
The guests gasped collectively as the screen flickered back to life, flooding the darkened ballroom with stark, clinical blue light.
It wasn’t a photo slideshow anymore. It was a live, high-resolution screen mirror of a highly secure, encrypted offshore banking interface.
“What the hell is this?” Eleanor demanded, her voice finally trembling as she looked up at the glowing numbers.
“Look closely at the screen, Eleanor,” I instructed, not breaking eye contact with her terrified son.