Chapter 12 - Echoes of Truth
|
The ballroom was enveloped in a suffocating, breathless silence. Nobody moved. Nobody spoke.
Then, the second recording began to play over the speakers—the raw audio captured outside the locked bridal suite door just five minutes prior.
Derek’s loud, aggressive voice reverberated through the hall:
If she thinks she can ruin my wedding day, just remind her whose house she’s coming home to tonight.
Followed immediately by Patricia’s distinct, chilling laugh echoing through the acoustic rafters.
Patricia’s face drained of every ounce of color. The wine glass in her hand began to tremble violently, red liquid sloshing over her manicured fingers.
Derek stood frozen in the middle of the dance floor, his face shifting from rage to utter, paralyzing panic.
“Turn it off! Someone turn that damn thing off!” Derek screamed, lunging wildly toward the DJ booth.
At that exact moment, the grand double doors at the main entrance of the ballroom swung wide open.
Two uniformed police officers walked briskly into the room. Right behind them, carrying a thick leather briefcase, walked my attorney, Melissa Grant.
The guests gasped in collective shock. High-society matriarchs pulled back their chairs; prominent businessmen stared in stunned disbelief.
Melissa walked straight across the dance floor toward me, her heels clicking rhythmically against the hardwood.
“Are you all right, Claire?” Melissa asked softly.
May you like
I looked at Derek, whose arms were hanging limp at his sides.
“I am now,” I replied.
