“He’s signing over forty percent of the voting shares to her once they’re married,” my mother’s recorded voice echoed through the nave. “You just need to keep her in line, Connor. Break her spirit, not her bones. If she looks abused, her father will investigate.”
Next came a series of bank statements projected onto the massive screen. Wire transfers from Edmonston Manufacturing’s accounts directly to Connor’s private offshore trust. They had been draining the company dry, using my impending marriage as the ultimate cover-up.
Connor, realizing the exits were blocked by my father’s loyal foremen, turned back to me. His handsome face was contorted into an ugly, desperate mask. “Mary, please,” he hissed, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “You’re ruining everything. We can fix this.”
“I did fix it,” I replied, my voice carrying clearly over the microphone clipped to my dress. “The board of directors held an emergency meeting this morning while you were getting fitted for your tuxedo. You’re fired, Connor. And your assets have been frozen.”
My father walked up the altar steps. He didn’t look at my mother. He walked straight past Connor, ignoring him completely, and gently placed his hands on my shoulders. He looked at my bruised cheek, his eyes filling with tears again, but this time, they were tears of profound regret.
“I’m so sorry, Mary,” he whispered. “I didn’t know.”
“I know, Dad,” I said, leaning into his touch. “That’s why I had to show you.”
“Arrest them,” my father said loudly, turning back to face the congregation.
The heavy oak doors at the back of the church swung open. Two local detectives, whom my father played golf with every Sunday, walked down the center aisle, their badges glinting in the stained-glass light.
My mother began to hyperventilate, clutching her pearls as the detective read her Miranda rights. Connor fought, shoving one of the officers, which only resulted in him being wrestled to the marble floor, his expensive tuxedo tearing at the shoulder.
The 180 guests watched in stunned, horrified silence as the groom and the mother of the bride were escorted out in handcuffs. The investors were already pulling out their phones, frantically calling their brokers.
I stood at the altar, the heavy, suffocating weight I had carried for over a year finally gone. I looked at my father, who was still standing by my side, a pillar of strength.
“Well,” I said, offering him a small, bruised smile. “Since everyone is already here, and the catering is paid for… would you care to escort me to the reception?”
My father smiled back, offering me his arm. “It would be my honor.”
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