Chapter 3 - The Gathering Storm
By Monday morning, the wedding footage had already begun circulating across private social media loops among our extended family, carefully edited by Delaney’s PR team to make me look like a hysterical, violent lunatic who attacked a bride over a petty jealousy dispute. My phone blew up with text messages from aunts and cousins calling me unhinged, selfish, and unstable.
I ignored every single one of them.
Instead, I sat at my home office desk, flanked by three massive binders containing four years of forensic accounting records, bank transfer slips, and corporate emails proving that Delaney and Hayes had systematically looted the family trust. Next to the binders sat the sealed evidence bag from St. Jude’s Hospital, along with a flash drive containing the raw, unedited CCTV security footage I had legally subpoenaed from the Grand Bellevue Estate management team twenty-four hours after the reception.
At exactly 9:00 AM, my doorbell rang.
I walked to the front door and opened it to find two uniformed detectives from the Chicago Police Department standing on my porch. The older one, Detective Marcus Vance—no relation to the ER doctor—flashed his shield with a solemn expression.
"Ms. Sloan Blake?" he asked.
"Yes, Detective. Please come in," I said, stepping aside to let them into my living room.
Detective Vance and his partner, Detective Miller, stepped inside, their eyes immediately taking in the neat, organized piles of financial documents and legal files spread across my dining table.
"We received a formal medical-assault notification from St. Jude’s Emergency Room on Saturday night," Detective Miller began, pulling out a small notebook. "A rusted fishhook intentionally rigged into a headpiece resulting in a deep cranial laceration. The hospital classifies it as aggravated assault with a deadly weapon. We also received your supplemental package containing venue security footage and financial fraud disclosures."
I picked up the sealed hospital evidence bag and set it gently on the table between us.
"My sister, Delaney Blake, and her husband, Hayes Montgomery, engineered this attack," I stated clearly, my voice steady and unwavering. "They didn't just want to hurt me physically. They wanted to destroy my credibility because I am the primary subpoenaed witness in an ongoing federal investigation into their embezzlement of our family trust."
Detective Vance slipped on a pair of latex gloves, picked up the evidence bag, and examined the rusted fishhook trapped inside the clear plastic. He let out a low, gravelly whistle.
"This isn't a prank, Ms. Blake," Detective Vance said, his eyes narrowing. "This is premeditated assault. We pulled the unedited venue security feeds this morning. We watched your sister manually press down with both hands to ensure the prongs engaged with your scalp, while her husband directed the camera crew to capture your exact reaction."
"Can you arrest them?" I asked.
May you like
Detective Vance closed the evidence bag and slipped it into his leather case. "We have enough probable cause for an immediate felony warrant. Aggravated assault, conspiracy, and tampering with a witness in a federal financial proceeding. We’re going to pay Mr. and Mrs. Montgomery a visit right now."
"Mind if I ride along?" I asked, grabbing my jacket. "I think it’s time I RSVP to the after-party."
