Chapter 2 - Walking Into the Lion’s Den
As I stepped through the grand double doors of the ballroom, the sound of polite applause washed over the room. One hundred and twenty guests—business associates, old friends, and Florence's wealthy socialite family members—turned to look at me. The room was breathtaking: cascading white hydrangeas, twinkling fairy lights, and towering ice sculptures.
At the end of the aisle stood Florence. She looked radiant, draped in custom French lace, her veil catching the crystal chandelier light. A dazzling, triumphant smile curved her lips. She thought she had won. She thought Christina had been safely silenced in a dark parking garage, and that her golden-parachuted future as Mrs. Jonathan Prescott was completely secure.
I didn't smile back. I walked slowly down the aisle, my posture rigid, my eyes locked directly onto hers.
As I approached the altar, the minister beamed and opened his prayer book. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to unite Jonathan and Florence in holy matrimony..."
"Stop," I said.
The word wasn't loud, but it cut through the quiet ballroom like a jagged knife. The string quartet sputtered and died out mid-note. The minister blinked, lowering his book.
Florence's triumphant smile flickered for a fraction of a second, replaced by a flash of nervous confusion. She leaned in, whispering under her breath, "Jonathan, what are you doing? Everyone is watching. Save your vows for the altar."
I turned away from the minister, facing the 120 guests. I reached into my breast pocket, pulled out the small black USB drive with the scratched corner, and held it up between my fingers so everyone could see it.
"Everyone," I announced, my voice carrying clearly through the lapel microphone attached to my tuxedo. "Before we proceed with any vows, there is a very special presentation we need to watch. It's a family home video. Courtesy of my three-year-old grandson, Leo."
Florence’s face went completely ghostly white. The color drained from her lips so fast she looked like a corpse carved of marble. She lunged forward, clawing frantically at my sleeve.
"Jonathan! No! Turn it off! Don't you dare—!" she shrieked, her carefully cultivated, sweet facade instantly cracking to reveal a cornered, vicious animal.
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Two of my corporate security guards, stationed near the doors on my advance orders, moved swiftly. They stepped between Florence and me, gently but firmly holding her back as she thrashed and cursed in front of the horrified guests.
I walked over to the DJ booth, plugged the USB drive directly into the master laptop connected to the massive projector screens above the altar, and hit play.
