Chapter 5 - Freezing the Illusion
Althia was the first to recover from the shock. Decades of parental conditioning and supreme entitlement took over her posture. She puffed her chest out, stepped directly over the broken glass, and pointed a trembling, manicured finger at my chest.
"You unnatural, spiteful monster!" my mother hissed, her voice vibrating with venom. "How dare you show your face here after what you did? Look at your sister! Look at the tears running down her face on the most important morning of her life! You call the bank right now and release those funds, or so help me God, I will never speak your name again!"
I leaned forward in the motorized chair, resting my forearms calmly on the armrests. I didn't raise my voice. I didn't shout. Shouting was for people who didn't hold the cards.
"Mother," I said evenly, "you haven't spoken my name with genuine love since I was six years old. Your silence wouldn't be a punishment. It would be the greatest tax deduction of my life."
"Fallon, please," Stellin pleaded, scrambling up from the ottoman and approaching my chair with his palms out, adopting the pathetic, wheedling tone he always used when he needed money for a bad real estate investment. "You don't understand the gravity of the situation. Alden’s family... they are watching us. If this event is canceled, our family name in this city will be ruined forever. The gossip... we will be pariahs!"
"Your family name?" I tilted my head. "You mean my company’s name? The company that earned every single dollar you stole from my account?"
"It wasn't stealing!" Sutton screamed, stomping her bare foot on the Persian rug. "It was a family contribution! You’re my older sister! You make six figures climbing on stupid airplanes! What else were you going to spend that money on? More tools? More ugly boiler suits? I am building a brand, Fallon! I am marrying into a family that matters! You were supposed to support me!"
"A family contribution," Marcus, my attorney, spoke up, pulling a typed document from his file. "Under Section 503 of the State Penal Code, unauthorized digital transfer of commercial funds exceeding one hundred thousand dollars constitutes Grand Theft in the First Degree. It carries a mandatory minimum sentence of seven to ten years in state prison."
Marcus looked directly at my father. "Mr. Campbell, the IP address used to authorize the five separate vendor drafts was registered to your residential desktop router. Furthermore, the electronic signature matches an uploaded PNG file of Miss Fallon Campbell’s signature taken from her corporate tax return—a document you held in your home office as her former registered agent. That isn't a family contribution, sir. That is a federal felony."
Stellin stumbled backward, his back hitting the marble mantelpiece. "Prison? No... no, I didn't know the exact legal terms... Sutton said she had Fallon's permission! Sutton said Fallon agreed to gift her the venue deposit!"
"Dad, you coward!" Sutton turned on him, her eyes wild with terror and rage. "You were the one who logged into her portal! You said she’d never notice until after the wedding was over and we were in Tahiti!"
I watched them turn on each other like starved animals in an iron cage. There was no loyalty here. No family bond. There was only greed, vanity, and a desperate scramble to escape the consequences of their own vanity.
"Where is Alden?" I asked quietly, cutting through their mutual accusations.
Sutton stopped screaming. Her chest heaved under the lace robe. "He's... he's in his villa. He's putting on his tuxedo. He’s waiting for me at the bluffs."
"No, he isn't," a quiet, resonant voice spoke from the open doorway.
We all turned.
Alden stood there. He wasn't wearing a tuxedo. He was dressed in dark denim, a navy button-down shirt, and leather boots. His hair was damp, his face pale and set in hard, unforgiving lines. Behind him stood two luggage porters holding three large leather suitcases bearing his family crest.
"Alden!" Sutton shrieked, her voice suddenly adopting a pathetic, childlike trill as she rushed toward him, her arms outstretched. "Alden, baby, thank God you’re here! They’re trying to ruin our wedding! Fallon came back and brought lawyers, and the hotel is lying about our bill, and—"
Alden didn't let her touch him. He raised a single hand, stepping cleanly out of her path. Sutton stumbled forward, catching herself on the door jamb.
"Don't touch me, Sutton," Alden said.
His voice wasn't angry. It was dead. Completely, irrevocably dead.
"Alden, what are you doing?" Althia stepped forward, her voice trembling. "The ceremony is scheduled for twelve o'clock! The guests are arriving at the reception lawn right now!"
Alden pulled his phone from his pocket and laid it quietly on the side table next to the door.
"The guests are not arriving," Alden stated. "My father sent a chartered coach to transport all forty members of our family and our business partners back to the marina an hour ago. The ceremony on the bluffs is canceled."
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Sutton froze, staring at him with round, dilated eyes. "What... what did you say?"
"I said it’s over, Sutton," Alden replied. "There is no wedding."
