Chapter 4 - The Projection of Truth
"Enough of this nonsense!" Richard bellowed, his voice cracking under the weight of utter panic. "This is private family business! You have zero proof of any criminal liability! Turn off those cameras!"
Several photographers hired by high-society tabloids were already livestreaming every word. Flashbulbs went off in rapid, blinding succession, illuminating the panic on Richard's face and the cool composure on Genevieve's.
"You want proof, Richard?" Genevieve asked, turning toward the high mezzanine above the ballroom where the audiovisual technicians managed the wedding's commemorative slideshow.
She raised her hand, giving a brief nod to the balcony.
Suddenly, the gentle string quartet music abruptly cut out. The massive overhead projection screens flanking the grand stage flickered to life. Instead of romantic photographs of Beatrice and Leonardo vacationing in St. Barts, high-resolution scans of encrypted bank records, internal emails, and wire transfer logs flooded the giant displays in glaring, unforgiving light.
The top screen displayed a digitized email dated three years ago, originating from Richard Sterling’s private server: Ensure the audit trails point exclusively to Croft's terminal. Wipe the mirror drive at midnight before the SEC arrives. Offer her full indemnification off the record, then pull the rug.
Murmurs exploded into an absolute uproar. Several prominent investors at Table 4—men who had served on Richard’s advisory board—stood up in outrage, pointing trembling fingers at the screen.
"My God, Richard," one elderly gentleman shouted, his face purple with fury. "You set her up! You lied to the federal grand jury!"
"It’s a forgery! It’s all a deepfake fabricated by Dominic Costello to hostile-takeover my company!" Richard screamed, his chest heaving as he pointed an accusing finger at me. "Costello has been trying to break into the maritime shipping corridor for five years! He paid this convict to forge digital documents!"
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"Digital documents can be challenged in court, Richard," I said, stepping forward until I was standing less than five feet from him across the ruined head table. "Which is why Genevieve brought something that cannot be forged. Something analog. Something signed by your own hand."
Genevieve unfolded the yellowed ledger paper she had retrieved from the clutch. The crisp snap of the parchment resounded through the stunned ballroom like a crack of thunder.
