Chapter 5 - Ree’s Video and the Livestream Leak
The luxury estate emptied with the speed of a sinking ship.
Within forty-five minutes of Arthur Vance’s speech, the grand ballroom was completely devoid of guests. Valet drivers scrambled to retrieve luxury sedans, while socialites whispered frantically into their phones, leaking the scandal to regional society blogs, business tabloids, and local news outlets. By 2:00 PM, the hashtag #BalconyBride was already trending regionally on X and TikTok.
In the estate’s private administrative library, a much quieter, colder reality was unfolding.
The heavy mahogany doors were shut tight. Sitting around the massive conference table were Arthur Vance, Merrick, Vaughn, myself, and a young woman with a tight black ponytail, dressed in estate staff tactical gear.
Her name tag read: *Ree – Systems & Security Director.*
Beside Ree sat a trembling, pale nineteen-year-old girl: my cousin, Kea. Kea’s mascara was completely ruined, black streaks running down her cheeks like dried ink. She was clutching a cup of cold tea, jumping at every slight sound.
"Start from the beginning, Miss Vance," Vaughn said smoothly, sitting at the head of the table with his legal pad ready. "Tell us about the broadcast."
"I... I didn't think she was actually going to do it!" Kea wailed, her voice cracking with hysterics. "Deline texted me two days ago! She said she was sick of Sloan getting all the sympathy because of her back! She said Sloan was acting like a martyr just because she had to wear that stupid brace to the dinner!"
"Did she explicitly plan the physical assault in writing?" Vaughn asked, his pen poised.
Kea frantically pulled her phone from her pocket and slid it across the polished wood toward Vaughn. "Yes! It’s all in the group chat! She called it 'Operation Humpty Dumpty'! She told me to position myself by the lower marble fountain with my camera on wide-angle! She said if Sloan took a tumble, it would look like a tragic, clumsy accident, but the video would get millions of views on my page and drive traffic to her bridal aesthetic account!"
Merrick leaned back in his leather chair, running a hand over his face. He looked physically ill. "She used my family’s estate, my wedding, and her own sister’s spinal injury as a stunt for digital engagement."
"It gets significantly worse, Mr. Vance," Ree spoke up.
The security director opened her heavy-duty rugged laptop and turned the screen toward the center of the table.
"When Mr. Robert Vance demanded that the estate delete the mezzanine footage last night," Ree said, her voice completely professional, "he attempted to bribe one of my junior technicians with ten thousand dollars in cash. Luckily, our facility operates on an automated off-site cloud loop managed by an independent third-party firm in Chicago. Nothing can be wiped without my master cryptographic key."
Ree tapped the spacebar.
The high-definition security footage played on the 4K display. The video was crisp, silent, and indisputable.
The time stamp read: *8:12:44 PM.*
On the screen, I was standing near the glass balustrade, leaning heavily on my ergonomic cane, looking exhausted as the wedding photographer adjusted lighting umbrellas across the room. My rigid back brace was clearly visible beneath the emerald fabric of my dress.
Behind me, Deline stepped out from the bridal party line. She didn't look drunk. She didn't look clumsy. Her eyes were sharp, calculating, and focused.
She caught Kea’s eye across the mezzanine, gave a subtle, chilling nod, and waited until Merrick turned his back to speak with an usher.
Then, Deline moved.
She didn't trip. She didn't stumble. She braced her right foot against the baseboard, lowered her shoulder, and slammed her entire body weight directly into my injured lower back.
On the screen, my body jerked violently. The cane flew from my hand, clattering against the glass. The low railing caught the backs of my knees, and I flipped backward into empty air, falling ten feet onto the hard stone below.
The camera captured the aftermath with horrifying clarity: Deline leaning over the edge, her mouth open in a wide, mocking laugh, clapping her hands together like an excited toddler at a carnival.
Beside her, Merrick spun around, his face warping from casual conversation to absolute horror. The camera caught the exact moment Merrick realized what she had done—and the exact moment his love for her died.
"Jesus Christ," Arthur Vance whispered, closing his eyes tightly. "She could have killed you, Sloan. That fall could have broken your neck."
"The impact fractured the transverse process of her L3 vertebra and caused a five-millimeter disk herniation," Vaughn said, tapping my medical records. "According to Dr. Chen at Metro General, had Sloan landed three inches to the left, the fractured bone would have severed her spinal cord entirely. This is not simple assault. Under the penal code, this meets every statutory requirement for Aggravated Battery with Depraved Indifference."
"What about the livestream?" Merrick asked Ree, his voice hollow. "Did Kea actually broadcast it?"
Ree grimaced slightly. "She didn't just broadcast it. Miss Kea Vance had the stream linked to a third-party clipping service. Even though she panicked and deleted the original broadcast twelve seconds after Sloan hit the floor, three prominent drama channels ripped the stream."
Ree brought up a new browser tab.
A video thumbnail filled the screen: a paused frame of me mid-fall, with a red arrow pointing to Deline laughing above. The title read: *INFLUENCER BRIDE PUSHES CRIPPLED SISTER OFF BALCONY FOR VIEWS?! (RAW FOOTAGE).*
The view count: *2.4 million views.*
The comment section was an absolute bloodbath.
*“This woman is an absolute sociopath.”*
*“Arrest her! Why isn't she in jail?”*
*“Look at her laughing! Look at the fiancé’s face—he looks sick!”*
*“Someone find her wedding registry and report her!”*
"It went viral," Kea whispered, burying her face in her arms and sobbing loudly. "It went viral just like she wanted. Only now everyone knows who she is."
I looked at the screen, watching the freeze-frame of Deline’s laughing face.
For years, Deline had lived for attention. She had starved for it, lied for it, manipulated our parents for it, and stepped on my neck to get it. She wanted the whole world to look at her.
Now, the whole world was looking.
"Counselor Sterling," Arthur Vance said, turning his formidable gaze to Vaughn. "What are the next steps regarding the financial fraud?"
"The local prosecutor’s office has already issued a subpoena for Eleanor and Robert Vance’s personal financial accounts," Vaughn replied, a cold, predatory smile touching his mouth. "Apex Infrastructure is pressing full charges for the $62,450. Furthermore, our corporate compliance division is auditing every financial transaction Robert Vance has engaged in over the last five years, including the fraudulent extraction of Sloan’s inheritance trust fund when she was in college."
Vaughn looked down at me, his eyes softening with fierce, paternal loyalty.
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"They took everything from you for fifteen years, Sloan. By the time my team finishes with them, they won't have enough money left to buy a postage stamp."
***
