Chapter 7 - The Daughter's Awakening
Albert’s eyes darted frantically around the room. He looked at the exits. The main doors were blocked by guests who were filming everything on their phones. The side doors were barred by Tom and my cousins.
His gaze snapped toward Chloe’s bridal purse sitting on the edge of the stage. Inside was her diamond engagement ring, which she had taken off during the photos, and her platinum credit card.
In a split second of desperate madness, Marcus Vance broke into a sprint toward the stage, his hands reaching for the purse. He wasn't thinking about saving the marriage anymore; he was looking for anything of value he could grab before running for the fire escape behind the kitchen.
"Get out of my way!" he snarled, shoving a shocked bridesmaid aside.
He leaped onto the stairs of the platform.
He never reached the purse.
I may be sixty-two years old, and my knees may ache when the winter frost rolls in, but I worked forty years pouring concrete on high-rise construction sites. Marcus had spent his life holding pens and counterfeit checks.
I caught him by the collar of his expensive tuxedo jacket and yanked him backward with every ounce of fury that had built up inside me over the last two years.
The fabric tore with a loud, satisfying *rip*.
Marcus lost his footing and slammed hard onto the floor, rolling over in agony as his elbow struck the corner of a heavy oak table. Plates rattled; a water pitcher fell and shattered, soaking his trousers.
He scrambled to his knees, gasping for air, clutching his bruised arm. "You're assault—this is assault! I’m calling the police!"
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I looked down at him, standing tall in my worn charcoal suit.
"You don't have to call them, Marcus," I said quietly. "I already did. Forty-five minutes ago."
