Chapter 4 - The Voice in the Speaker
Natalie’s face transformed instantly from smug satisfaction to sheer, chalky terror. Her knuckles turned white around her own microphone. "Daniel, don't! That was private!" she shrieked over the speakers, her voice squeaking with panic.
Daniel didn't flinch. He plugged a small audio auxiliary cable into the side of his phone, linking it directly into the venue’s main soundboard.
"Last night," Daniel explained to the crowded barn, "Natalie texted me to tell me I was throwing my life away on a girl who was broken, damaged goods from day one. When I told her to delete my number and leave my bride alone, she sent me a series of voice notes. Let’s listen to the first one, shall we?"
He tapped play.
Natalie’s voice filled every corner of the restored barn, crystalline and poisonous, echoing off the whitewashed rafters:
"Daniel, you're an educated man, you have a future. Claire has always been the family charity case. She's a jumpy, insecure 911 dispatcher who clings to everyone because she knows she’s second best. You think she loves you? She's settling because nobody else wanted to deal with her trauma. Look at what Evan and I built. You and I are the ones with real ambition. Leave her before tomorrow. Leave her at the altar and come to my house. I told Evan I was spending the weekend alone to think, but I was waiting for you."
The collective gasp from the pews sounded like a tidal wave. Aunt Susan dropped her program onto the floor. My father turned slowly to stare at Natalie, his face turning an alarming shade of crimson.
"Turn it off!" my mother screamed, jumping up from the front row and rushing toward the stage. "Daniel, turn that off right this second! This is a family matter!"
"Sit down, Marlene," Daniel said calmly into the mic, his tone brook no argument. "Because there's a second recording from 1:15 this morning, right after she realized I wasn't replying."
May you like
He tapped the screen again.
"You think you're noble, Daniel?" Natalie’s drunken, slurred voice echoed out, dripping with spite. "You think you can protect her? Tomorrow morning, she’s not walking down that aisle in white. I took her precious little dress and tossed it into the dumpster behind the Lexington transfer station at dawn. She’s going to wear that shredded blue rag I ruined back in high school so everyone knows what she really is: white trash. Let's see how much you love your pretty little charity case when she’s standing in garbage."
