Chapter 3 - The Gospel According to the LED Screen
Behind the altar sat a massive, ten-foot LED display that had been installed to show a pre-recorded slide show of Harper and Blake’s romantic history during the cocktail hour.
Harper pressed the silver button.
The screen flickered, instantly replacing the photograph of their engagement trip to Nantucket with a stark, high-resolution audio waveform accompanied by live digital transcriptions.
Blake’s voice, amplified through the estate’s multi-thousand-watt audio system, slammed into the crowd with horrific clarity:
“She’s a foster kid who won the lottery... She’ll sign because I’ll present it as routine. She still reads people like they’re better than they are... Then she signs later, after she’s easier to manage.”
Gasps exploded across the garden.
In the second row, Bram Dalton tried to stand up and slip toward the back bushes, but two heavy-set men in dark suits stepped quietly into the aisle, blocking his path with icy expressions.
Blake reached out wildly, trying to grab Harper’s arm. "Harper! Turn that off! It’s a setup—it’s AI generated! Someone edited my voice!"
Harper did not flinch. She took a step backward, letting the audio track continue to play while the screen began auto-scrolling through fifty pages of scanned documents: wire transfer receipts, unauthorized power-of-attorney forms bearing Harper's forged signature, and private email exchanges between Blake and a offshore receiver in the Cayman Islands detailing plans to liquidate Vincent's restaurant group within ninety days of the marriage.
“She was raised to be grateful. Men like me count on that.”
The final audio sentence echoed over the lawn and died into a suffocating, absolute silence.
Nobody moved. The string quartet had stopped playing mid-note. The federal prosecutor sitting in row three was already pulling a small leather notebook from his jacket, his eyes glued to the financial documents scrolling across the display.
Blake stood in the middle of the altar, completely exposed under the bright July sun. Sweat was pouring down his temples, ruining his expensive makeup, dripping onto his crisp collar.
He looked at the crowd. He looked at Bram Dalton, who was currently being escorted toward the side driveway by Vincent’s men. Finally, he turned to look at Vincent Moretti.
Vincent had stepped onto the raised stone platform of the altar.
The old man did not look angry in the conventional sense. His face was entirely still, his dark eyes hollowed by a cold, ancient violence that made the surrounding guests recoil. He rested both hands on his mahogany cane, looking down at Blake as if he were a bug that had crawled onto his dinner plate.
"Vincent," Blake gasped, his voice high and cracking. "Vincent, listen to me. It’s a misunderstanding—I was protecting the family! I was trying to consolidate the accounts to shield them from the SEC—"
"Shut your mouth, son," Vincent said softly.
The tone was so quiet that only Blake, Harper, and Judge Callahan heard it, but it carried more terror than a scream.
Vincent turned his head slowly toward Harper. The coldness in his eyes melted by a fraction, replaced by a deep, dark nod of approval.
"You knew before you walked down the aisle?" Vincent asked her.
"I found out nineteen minutes ago," Harper said calmly, handing the silver remote to her adoptive father. "I decided a private confrontation would be a waste of good evidence."
Vincent let out a short, dry sound that might have been a laugh. "My girl."
He looked back at Blake.
"You thought because she came from nothing, she had no blood," Vincent said, leaning in until his face was inches from Blake’s trembling nose. "You thought because she was soft with her child, she was soft in her heart. You forgot who raised her for fourteen years."
May you like
Vincent raised his hand slightly, gesturing to two men standing near the back of the lawn.
"Take Mr. Sterling to the library," Vincent instructed smoothly. "He liked the room so much earlier. Let him wait there until our legal friends from the U.S. Attorney's office arrive."
