Chapter 3 - Breaking Free
I didn't waste another second hitting the wooden door with my fists.
I grabbed a steel folding chair from the corner, swung it with every ounce of strength I had, and slammed the leg directly into the brass door latch.
CRACK.
The wood around the frame splintered. I hit it a second time, and the deadbolt snapped free. The door flew open, letting in the cool night air of the estate’s outer courtyard.
The sun had already set. The wedding ceremony was over, and from the grand ballroom across the courtyard, I could hear the booming bass of the reception music.
I hid behind the stone pillars, pulling my ripped dress tight around myself. I needed to get inside that ballroom, but I couldn't just walk in looking like a victim. I needed proof, and I needed to ensure Diane couldn't spin another lie.
I ran low along the perimeter of the estate until I reached the bridal suite. The door was unlocked. Inside, the room was littered with makeup bags, empty prosecco bottles, and spare dresses.
My phone was sitting right on the vanity table, next to my stolen clutch. Diane hadn't destroyed it; she had simply stashed it here to make it look like I had abandoned the wedding out of jealousy.
I grabbed my phone. There were twelve missed calls from my best friend, Marcus, who was sitting at Table 4 as a guest.
I dialed his number immediately.
"Claire?!" Marcus answered on the first ring, his voice panicked. "Where the hell are you? Diane told everyone you got drunk, threw a tantrum, and took an Uber back to the city!"
"Marcus, listen to me very carefully," I whispered, keeping my eyes fixed on the door. "I wasn't drunk. Diane drugged my champagne and locked me in the east wing storage room."
"What?!" Marcus gasped. "Claire, are you okay? Do I need to call the police?"
"Not yet," I said, my voice steadying. "I found my mother’s estate files in that room. Diane didn't just steal my mother's money, Marcus. She killed her."
Silence hung on the line for three terrifying seconds.
"What do you need me to do?" Marcus asked, his tone dropping into total focus.
"The reception projector," I said, staring at the thick manila envelope in my hands. "The one set up to play Felicity’s childhood slideshow during the speeches."
"It's hooked up to the main AV station by the DJ booth," Marcus replied. "The DJ has a laptop running the feed."
"I'm sending three files to your phone right now," I told him, using my phone’s scanner app to digitize the surveillance photos and the mechanic’s affidavit. "When the father-of-the-bride toast starts, I want you to override that slideshow screen."
"Claire... this will blow up your sister's entire wedding," Marcus warned softly.
May you like
I looked at the photograph of my mother’s smiling face, taken days before her life was stolen from her.
"My sister is marrying into a family of monsters who murdered our mother for money," I said coldly. "This wedding was over the second Diane handed me that glass."
