Chapter 4
The doorknob turned twice, but the lock held.
“Claire,” Julian called through the door. “Give me the documents. Anything you sign in this state won’t hold up.”
I folded the final page into the folder and capped the pen. The word I had circled disappeared beneath the cover.
“Step away from the door.”
Then Ruthie answered. “You’re clear.”
I opened it. She held the livestream tablet against her chest. My attorney, Miles Greer, stood behind her, while the estate manager blocked Julian down the hall.
Julian saw the folder and stepped forward. “Let’s talk in private. This was a misunderstanding. If we agree on a statement, we can still control the story.”
“You have eight hundred and twenty thousand stories to control.”
I walked past him. Miles had drafted the election in the folder and reviewed every term with me before the wedding.
Now he lowered his voice.
“If you publicly terminate the sponsorships, the refunds become your responsibility tonight.”
“I know.”
The processional had stopped. Guests remained standing. Reporters crowded outside the floral arch, and sponsor representatives surrounded Ruthie’s assistant.
Gold menus carried both family names. Julian’s name had already appeared on hundreds of thousands of screens.
Eleanor came toward me. “End the livestream. We’ll issue a joint statement saying the footage has not been verified.”
“It showed his face.”
“People will remember how you handle this.” Her eyes dropped to the folder. “If you continue, you’ll lose more than a wedding.”
One sponsor demanded its logo be removed. Another ordered staff to clear its gift boxes from the tables.
Ruthie leaned close. “If we refund everyone, our cash won’t last through the quarter.”
She wasn’t exaggerating. Whitford & Vow had invested most of its available budget in the livestream, and our spring bookings were tied to tonight’s exposure.
Ending the broadcast might save a few contracts. It would also let Julian and Eleanor decide what 820,000 people heard tomorrow.
The lead camera operator was still at his post, waiting for me.
“Keep the ballroom feed live,” I said. “Pull every sponsor logo we no longer have permission to show. From here on, Whitford & Vow controls the broadcast.”
The color drained from Eleanor’s face. “You have no right to turn a family wedding into an advertisement.”
“The wedding is over.”
I told the staff to remove the Ashford place cards but keep the food, music, and lighting.
At the control station, Ruthie deleted the wedding countdown from the livestream title.
Julian came up behind me. “You’re going to turn the worst night of our lives into a commercial?”
“My company is paying for tonight. I decide what we do with what’s left.”
Miles asked once more if I was certain.
I nodded and told Ruthie to mark every wedding sponsorship for termination. The refund list would be on my desk in the morning.
Several sponsors left immediately. One told the reporters I could expect a claim for damages.
An entire row of seats emptied while champagne continued to bubble on the tables.
I picked up the microphone. The audience was approaching nine hundred thousand.
“Tonight was supposed to be a wedding,” I told the camera. “That part is over. No one here needs to protect either family’s reputation, and the dinner won’t go to waste.”
Ruthie gave me a small nod from the control station.
“Starting now, this is a Whitford & Vow brand launch. My team will announce our new services, rates, and partnership terms.”
Applause never came, but some guests returned to their seats while others raised their phones.
The kitchen manager waited by the door. I signaled for him to serve the first course.
Two headlights swept across the ballroom windows.
A black sedan moved through the reporters and stopped beneath the floral arch. A silver crescent on the door belonged to Maison Lune, the French bridal house.
The rear door slowly opened.