Chapter 3 - THE ANTECHAMBER CONFRONTATION
Twenty minutes later, Brenda excused herself to the powder room to freshen up, giving me the opening I needed.
I stood up from the table, adjusted the lapels of my tailored Italian suit, and walked steadily toward the private antechamber adjacent to the bridal suite. The heavy oak door was slightly ajar, and angry voices spilled out into the hallway.
“—are you an absolute idiot, Lucas?!” Chloe shrieked, her voice shrill and tear-stained. She had changed into a backup cocktail dress, but her hair was disheveled, and her makeup was completely ruined. “Your mother’s chair! I glued her chair! Why didn't you check it before I sat down?!”
“How was I supposed to know he switched them?!” Lucas yelled back, pacing furiously across the Persian rug. “I was standing right there! Dad must have moved it when we went to get the photographer! He’s playing games with us!”
I pushed the door open the rest of the way.
The heavy wood creaked softly. Both of them whipped around.
Lucas stopped dead in his tracks, his face turning an unhealthy shade of pale. Chloe’s eyes bulged with raw hatred, her hands clenched into tight fists at her sides.
“Dad,” Lucas breathed out, his voice suddenly dropping into a defensive whine. “You... you saw what happened out there? That was horrible! Somebody sabotaged Chloe’s chair! The venue is going to pay a fortune for this!”
I walked slowly into the room, my hands tucked casually into my trouser pockets. I didn't raise my voice. I didn't yell. In corporate negotiations, the man who loses his temper is the man who loses the deal.
“Nobody sabotaged your chair, Lucas,” I said quietly. “You and your lovely bride sabotaged Brenda’s chair.”
Chloe let out a harsh, bitter laugh, stepping forward. “Prove it! You old bastard, you think you can just accuse us—?”
I reached into my breast pocket, pulled out the sleek encrypted flash drive, and tossed it onto the glass coffee table between us. It skidded across the surface and stopped right in front of Lucas.
“That drive contains three distinct angles of high-definition security footage from the Briarwood Manor service hallway,” I stated plainly. “It clearly shows Chloe pouring industrial-grade super glue across the velvet cushion of Brenda’s seat. And right beside her, cheering her on like a proud accomplice, is you, Lucas. Telling her not to ruin the joke.”
Lucas stared at the flash drive as if it were a venomous snake. All the color drained from his face.
“Dad... wait,” Lucas stammered, holding his hands up defensively. “It was just a prank! A little wedding-day humor! We didn't mean any real harm, we just wanted to rattle her a little bit because she’s always so—so traditional and annoying!”
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“Annoying?” I repeated, the word tasting like ash. “She spent twenty-nine years wiping your nose, paying your college tuition, and mortgaging our lake house so you could launch your first failed company. And you call her annoying?”
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