Chapter 4 - The Bride's Toast
The grand ballroom had not changed in the twenty minutes I had been gone. The string quartet was still playing a soft, classical melody, the crystal chandeliers cast a warm, golden glow over the sea of tables, and two hundred guests were chatting happily, completely unaware of the financial and criminal earthquake that had just struck the family table.
As I pushed through the double doors, Penelope spotted me immediately.
Her face lit up. She abandoned her new husband, Gabriel, for a brief second, lifting the heavy white tulle of her wedding gown as she hurried across the polished parquet floor toward me.
"Mom!" Penelope breathed, her eyes wide with a mix of relief and anxiety. "Where did you go? Dad and Corinne left through the side door twenty minutes ago, and Grandma Gertrude has been asking for water, but nobody can find the staff."
I reached out, gently smoothing a stray lock of dark hair back from my daughter's forehead. She looked so much like I had at her age—full of hope, entirely trusting, and completely unaware of the cruel curveballs life could throw.
"I'm right here, sweetheart," I said, offering her a genuine, reassuring smile. "I just had a... very important phone call."
Penelope narrowed her eyes, studying my face. "You look different, Mom. Stronger."
"I am stronger," I replied softly. "Now, come on. Your husband is waiting to cut the cake with you, and I wouldn't miss that for the world."
As we walked back toward the family table, I noticed Corinne’s empty seat beside Tristan’s deserted chair. Gertrude was sitting rigidly in her wheelchair, her face twisted in a bitter scowl as she muttered angrily to herself.
Gabriel Sterling met us near the cake table, smiling warmly. He offered his arm to Penelope, and the room quieted as the photographer readied his flashbulbs.
Then, Charles Sterling walked out from the service corridor, stepping quietly to the edge of the dance floor. He caught my eye, raised his champagne flute in a silent, respectful toast, and gave me a slight nod.
I raised my glass of sparkling water back to him.
The silver knife flashed under the chandelier lights as Penelope and Gabriel pressed their hands together over the handle, slicing the first tiered layer of white fondant and raspberry filling. The room erupted into polite applause and cheers.
Penelope turned, laughing, and handed a small plate of cake to Gabriel, then immediately looked for me.
"Mom, you have to come up here," Penelope called out, waving her hand. "We need a family photo. Just the three of us—well, you and me and Gabriel. Dad's still missing, but..." Her voice trailed off awkwardly as she realized what she had said.
I stepped up onto the raised dais, my posture tall, my chin held high. "Don't worry about your father, honey. I'm sure he's... preoccupied with pressing matters."
Just as the photographer positioned us for the shot, the ballroom doors swung open with a sharp, heavy bang.
All conversation died instantly.
Two men in dark suits—local precinct detectives—strode into the ballroom, flanked by a uniformed officer. They scanned the room, their eyes locking immediately on the empty chair bearing the nameplate BRIDE’S FATHER.
The lead detective stepped up to the microphone on the bandstand, tapping it twice.
May you like
"Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen. Sorry to interrupt the celebration," the detective's voice boomed through the speakers. "Is Tristan Bennett present? We have a federal warrant for his immediate arrest."
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