Chapter 5 - The Inside Man
By Friday evening, twenty-four hours before the ceremony, the medical staff reluctantly agreed to discharge me under two non-negotiable conditions: I was strictly confined to an electric wheelchair, and I had to remain accompanied by a medical professional to monitor my oxygen saturation levels.
The chest tube was out, but my side felt like it had been branded with a white-hot iron. Every breath was a measured negotiation with pain. Yet, as Hayes pulled his tinted SUV into the back alley of my apartment building to pick me up, I felt more alive than I had in years.
Hayes stepped out, dressed in an unassuming dark hoodie, looking over his shoulder before opening the rear door to help Marcus load my wheelchair into the cargo space.
"Coast is clear," Hayes said, extending a hand to support my elbow as I slowly lowered myself into the passenger seat. "Ble spent the entire afternoon at a luxury spa in Warwick with her bridesmaids. Arthur has been at the venue with the decorators, hanging drapery over every surface."
"Did he mention the permit riders?" I asked, buckling my seatbelt with ginger care.
"He told Ble that you folded like a cheap tent," Hayes said with a sardonic grin. "He told her you signed the certifications and apologized for making a scene at the rehearsal. Ble laughed and said she might send you a picture of the cake if you behaved yourself."
"The arrogance is astounding," Marcus muttered from the backseat, his briefcase resting across his knees like an artillery shell. "He received an automated confirmation that the document had been opened. He didn't even verify the cryptographic hash of the digital signature. He was so blinded by his need to control Marin that he didn't realize the IP address that accessed the file wasn't hers—it belonged to the Enforcement Division of the Rhode Island Attorney General’s Office."
Hayes pulled out into the evening traffic, heading toward a private office suite Marcus had secured near the Providence waterfront.
"What’s the status of the venue's surveillance system?" I asked Hayes, adjusting the portable oxygen cannula resting beneath my nose.
"Completely compromised," Hayes replied smoothly. "Arthur was too cheap to hire a dedicated IT security contractor for The Glass Pavilion. He used an off-the-shelf commercial security hub and left the default administrator passwords active. I spent three hours last night backing up thirty days of raw, uncompressed 4K footage from sixteen interior cameras."
"Including the footage from Thursday night's rehearsal dinner?" I leaned forward, my heart hammering against my fractured ribs.
Hayes reached into his pocket and handed a high-speed SSD drive back to Marcus. "Every single angle. Camera four had a clear, direct, unobstructed view of the champagne tower. It shows Ble stepping behind you, looking directly at your left ankle, hooking her foot, and driving her elbow straight into your rib cage. You can even see her mouth the words: *'Stay down, bitch,'* right before you hit the glass."
A cold tear slid down my cheek, not of sorrow, but of profound, vindicating relief.
For twelve years, every slight, every insult, every stolen dollar had been twisted by my family to make me look like the unstable, envious troublemaker. Ble had rewritten reality so many times that there were moments in my twenties when I had genuinely questioned my own sanity. But cold, digital lenses didn't lie.
"Did you get the footage of Arthur?" I asked, my voice dropping.
"Camera one," Hayes said, his expression hardening. "Audio and video. It caught him walking up to you while you were choking on blood. It caught him sneering at the caterer. And it caught him throwing the two twenties and the ten onto your chest and saying: *'Toss that useless girl fifty dollars for a cab so we can finish the party.'*"
Marcus clicked open his laptop, connected the drive, and ran the playback. The crisp, horrifyingly clear footage filled the screen. Seeing myself drowning in that sea of red wine and blood, while my father stood over me with an expression of pure, dismissive disgust, sent an electric current through the car.
"This is criminal assault resulting in severe bodily injury for Ble," Marcus said, his legal detachment momentarily slipping into raw anger. "And Arthur’s conduct constitutes criminal reckless endangerment and failure to render aid. When the prosecutor sees this, there won't even be a plea deal offered."
"There's more," Hayes added, his voice steady. "Ble planned a multimedia presentation for the reception. Right after our first dance, she set up a fifteen-minute video montage of our romance and her family's 'prestigious history' to be broadcast across six massive LED video walls she had installed along the perimeter of the ballroom. She hired an audiovisual crew to run the projection feeds from a master control booth on the mezzanine."
I looked at Marcus, and a slow, fierce smile touched my lips despite the sharp pain in my chest.
"Hayes," I said quietly, "how well do you know that AV crew?"
"I know them very well," Hayes replied, meeting my eyes in the rearview mirror. "In fact, I paid their deposit myself out of my personal account. The lead technician hates Arthur. Arthur yelled at him for three hours yesterday about the placement of the spotlights."
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"Good," I said, leaning my head back against the headrest, closing my eyes as the pieces of the trap slid perfectly into place. "Then on Saturday night, we’re going to give Ble the grandest, most unforgettable show of her entire life."
***
