Chapter 9 - The Microphone is Live
As the press conference wound down and reporters began packing up their equipment, Vesper leaned down and whispered in my ear. "The state receiver has officially signed over the remaining commercial deeds. Bellamy House is ours." A profound sense of release washed over me. The pain in my knee was still there, a dull, throbbing reminder of the physical toll my family had exacted from me, but the emotional weight I had carried for thirty-four years had completely vanished. Suddenly, the ballroom's overhead sound system crackled to life. A microphone feed from the second-floor bridal suite had accidentally been left open, broadcasting live into the main audio board and echoing loudly through the massive speakers of the ballroom.
It was Sutton’s voice, shrill, frantic, and unfiltered, screaming at the top of her lungs. "I don't care about the receivership! I don't care about the restaurants! My entire life is destroyed! Alden left me, the whole world is watching me fail, and it's all because that crippled bitch Fallon wouldn't just stay out of the way!" The entire room went dead silent. Cameramen who were halfway out the door froze, instantly swinging their lenses back toward the ceiling speakers. Microphones automatically adjusted, capturing every raw, venomous syllable. Althia leaped to her feet, screaming into the air, "Sutton! Shut up! The microphones are live!" But it was too late. The entire press corps was recording every single second of the meltdown.
"I hate her!" Sutton sobbed hysterically through the speakers, her voice echoing off the crystal chandeliers. "I pushed her down those stairs on purpose! She deserved it! She always steals everything that's mine! I wish she had broken her neck!" The feedback squeal cut off sharply as someone in the bridal suite frantically ripped the microphone cable out of the wall. But the damage was absolute, irreversible, and immortalized on live broadcast across the entire country. In the front row, Stellin slowly closed his eyes, sliding down in his chair until his head rested against the cushion, utterly defeated. Althia stood frozen, her mouth opening in silent horror as she realized that every single pretense of their family's social standing had just been burned to ashes on national television. I looked over at Vesper, who raised an eyebrow and offered a slow, appreciative smirk. "Well," Vesper murmured, "it looks like the bride just delivered her own closing argument."
