Chapter 3 - Morning at the Oceanfront Trap
The salt air at the Paradiso Del Mar was warm and fragrant, carrying the delicate notes of expensive gardenias and roasting artisan espresso beans. To any outside observer strolling through the private palm courtyards, it was the pinnacle of elite coastal romance. White silk draperies fluttered between towering Grecian columns; ice sculptures carved into soaring swans caught the morning sunlight; and twenty staff members in matching black waistcoats set up rows of gilded mahogany chairs facing the private ocean bluffs.
At 9:15 AM, the door to the Grand Bridal Suite swung open with an authoritative bang.
My mother, Althia, paced across the Persian rug, clutching a mother-of-the-bride binder covered in pearl satin. Her champagne-colored silk dress was already pressed, her hair sprayed into an immobile silver wave.
"Where is that miserable girl?" Althia snapped, glaring at the empty chaise lounge where she had ordered me to sit. "Her phone goes straight to voicemail. Stellin, did you verify that her taxi brought her back from the clinic?"
Stellin sat at a marble vanity, adjusting his gold cufflinks with trembling fingers. He looked haggard, his skin pasty beneath his expensive spray tan. "She’ll be here, Althia. She has nowhere else to go. Her luggage is still in room 402."
"She’d better not wear that disgusting cast," Sutton said, emerging from the dressing room.
She looked breathtaking—if one only looked at the surface. She was wrapped in an ivory lace robe, her blonde hair falling in immaculate, effortless beach waves. Two makeup artists knelt at her feet, buffing micro-shimmer onto her collarbones. Yet, her mouth was drawn into a tight, spiteful line.
"She ruined my entire dinner," Sutton spat, inspecting her manicure. "Alden didn't come to my suite last night. He slept in the groomsmen villa. He wouldn't even answer my calls until eight this morning, and when he did, he sounded like an ice cube. He asked if Fallon was in the ICU. The ICU! Can you believe the dramatic nonsense she fed him before she left?"
"Alden is just having standard wedding-day nerves, darling," Althia soothingly patted Sutton's bare shoulder. "His family is old New England money. They abhor public scenes. Once the ceremony starts and he sees you in that fifteen-thousand-dollar veil, he’ll forget that Fallon ever slipped on her clumsy heels."
"She didn't just slip," a small, nervous voice piped up from the corner of the room.
Cousin Briany was sitting near the floor-to-ceiling mirror, chewing on the raw edge of her thumb. Her face was pale, her eyes darting repeatedly toward her purse where her primary phone was stashed.
"What did you say, Briany?" Sutton turned slowly, her blue eyes narrowing like razor blades.
"Nothing," Briany stammered, pulling her knees up to her chest. "Just... Sutton, the video I took... people saw you. Groomsmen were standing right behind the floral urns. What if someone talks to his parents?"
"Nobody talks to anyone unless I give them permission," Sutton sneered, taking a sip of mimosa. "And you deleted that file from your cloud just like I told you to, right? Right?"
"I... I deleted it," Briany lied, her voice dropping to a near-inaudible squeak.
"Good. Because if my wedding gets derailed over Fallon’s manufactured victim complex, I will ensure your father’s loan from Dad gets called in by Monday morning," Sutton hissed. "Everyone in this family understands how this hierarchy works. Fallon produces the money, I produce the status, and you fall in line."
Before Briany could answer, a heavy, rhythmic knock rattled the heavy oak doors of the suite.
Althia smoothed her gown and pasted a gracious, aristocratic smile across her face. "That will be the banquet manager bringing the final event manifest and the vintage Dom Pérignon. Stellin, pull out your gold fountain pen. Act like you do this every weekend."
Stellin stood, squaring his shoulders, trying to project the image of an industrial tycoon. He pulled the double doors open with a wide flourish. "Good morning, my good man! We are ready to sign off on the—"
His voice died in his throat.
Standing in the hallway was not the deferential banquet manager with a silver tray.
It was Mr. Henderson, the resort's Director of Operations, flanked by two stone-faced security officers in dark suits, and an austere woman carrying an open ledger. Behind them, leaning against the hallway wall, was a uniformed sergeant from the local sheriff's department.
"Mr. Stellin Campbell?" Mr. Henderson inquired, his voice entirely devoid of the hospitality warmth he had displayed twelve hours prior.
"Yes?" Stellin stammered, his hand falling from the doorframe. "What is the meaning of this? This is the private bridal preparation floor."
"At ten-forty-five this morning," Mr. Henderson said loudly, ensuring every person in the suite heard each syllable, "the primary corporate merchant funding line provided for the Campbell-Alden wedding event was flagged by the Federal Trade Commission and the First National Commercial Bank as an active fraudulent diversion."
Althia gasped, dropping her satin binder to the floor. "What? That's preposterous! That is my daughter's business card! She authorized—"
"Miss Fallon Campbell submitted a notarized affidavit of identity theft and corporate wire fraud three hours ago from the regional surgical center," Mr. Henderson continued coldly. "All pending authorizations, totaling one hundred and eighty-four thousand, nine hundred dollars, have been formally canceled and reversed by the issuing bank."
May you like
Sutton rose from the vanity, her silk robe billowing. "What did you just say? My veil! My imported peonies!"
"As of twelve minutes ago, Miss Campbell," the director turned his icy gaze toward the bride, "the floral displays have been reclaimed by the local distributor. The sound engineers on the bluffs have ceased staging. And under Section 14 of our facility contract, unless the remaining outstanding balance of one hundred and forty-two thousand dollars is rendered in certified funds within sixty minutes, this entire event is formally cancelled, and your party will be escorted off the premises."
