Chapter 3 - The Video Archives
The audio roared through the cathedral’s surround-sound speakers, crystal clear, unedited, and unmistakable.
“She’s in the ICU right now, Mother,” Ethan’s recorded voice spoke from the speakers—a recording taken four months ago outside the Mount Sinai Oncology Wing. “The doctors say the next forty-eight hours are critical.”
Then came Margaret’s response, recorded in her private estate sitting room. Her voice was dismissive, clinking with the sound of ice cubes in a crystal whiskey glass.
“Then let us pray she doesn't make it through the forty-eight hours, Ethan. It would save us a tremendous amount of legal paperwork. If she dies now, her father’s estate trust reverts to public auction, and we can buy her family's medical patents for pennies on the dollar. If you marry her and she dies six months later, it creates a media nightmare for our stock portfolio. Do not be emotionally soft.”
A loud, horrified roar of disgust erupted from the three hundred guests in the pews.
Several prominent city officials stood up from their seats, staring at Margaret in absolute revulsion. Mayor Higgins, sitting in the fourth row, shook his head in disgust, pulling his wife’s hand away from the Blackwood family pew.
Margaret’s face drained of all color, turning a sallow, chalky white beneath her expensive cosmetics. "Turn that off!" she shrieked, her aristocratic composure completely shattering. "That is an illegal wiretap! That is a invasion of privacy! I will have you arrested!"
"Wait, Mother," Ethan said, his face completely emotionless. "It gets better. Let's look at Olivia's contribution."
The screen shifted to a second video clip, recorded three weeks ago in the VIP dressing room of a Manhattan luxury boutique.
Olivia appeared on screen, drinking champagne with two of her socialite friends while holding a pair of heavy tailor's shears.
“I altered the inner lining of Eleanor's wedding dress,” Olivia’s recorded voice giggled maliciously on the giant screen. “I put an irritant chemical in the bust lace. She’s going to be itching and bleeding through her vows. And if that doesn't force her to faint on the altar, I’m going to rip that cheap fake hair off her head in front of everyone. By the time I’m done with her, my brother will be so disgusted he’ll sign the trust power-of-attorney over to Mother before the reception even starts.”
The cathedral turned into an absolute madhouse.
Reporters from prominent news outlets, who had been invited to cover what was supposed to be the high-society wedding of the year, pulled out high-end cameras and smartphones, flashbulbs exploding like a storm of lightning across the altar.
Olivia covered her face with her hands, letting out a sharp, hysterical shriek as two dozen camera lenses focused on her trembling frame. "Stop filming me! Stop it! Ethan, turn it off! You're destroying my life!"
"You destroyed your own life the second you touched my wife," Ethan said, his voice ringing out like a judicial sentence.
He walked over to where my custom wig lay on the marble steps. He knelt down with absolute dignity, picked up the soft hair, gently shook off the dust, and stepped back to my side.
He turned to face me. With infinite care, in front of three hundred witnesses and fifty flashing cameras, Ethan placed his hands on my shoulders. He looked into my eyes, his own eyes brimming with tears of pride.
"You don't need a wig, Eleanor," Ethan whispered, his voice carrying through the microphone for the entire world to hear. "You are the bravest, most beautiful woman in this room. You fought death and won. They are the ones who are hollow. They are the ones who are naked."
May you like
He leaned down and kissed my bare scalp softly, right in the center, before turning back to the priest.
"Father," Ethan said smoothly. "Please continue the vows. My bride is waiting."
