Chapter 4 - The Dance of the Damned
Beyond the thick, soundproofed walls of the bridal bathroom, the wedding reception was reaching its decadent pinnacle.
Evan stood beside the multi-tiered crystal champagne fountain, laughing charmingly at a quip from the county presiding judge.
In his right hand, he held a glass of vintage Cabernet Sauvignon, the deep red liquid catching the amber light of the chandeliers.
His mother, Victoria, approached his side, wearing a triumphant smile as she adjusted the diamond brooch pinned to her emerald lapel.
"The photographer took the wide-angle shots without any vulgar interruptions," Victoria murmured discreetly behind her champagne glass.
"Mother, Claire looked genuinely sick when we left her," Evan muttered, though his eyes never stopped scanning the room for wealthy investors.
"Claire is an overdramatic middle-class girl who wanted to draw attention away from your sister," Victoria dismissed with a wave of her ringed hand.
"She has always been jealous of this family's status, and tonight she thought a little false labor would make her the center of attention."
"She said she was bleeding, Mother," Evan whispered, taking a nervous sip of his wine as a flicker of panic touched his gut.
"A few drops of spotting is perfectly normal in the third trimester, according to my private obstetrician," Victoria lied smoothly.
"The caterers are bringing out the dry-aged tenderloin in five minutes, followed immediately by the governor’s honorary toast."
"You will stand beside your sister, you will look devoted, and you will not mention Claire’s childish tantrum to anyone," she commanded.
Across the ballroom, Celeste was basking in the adoration of high society, her six-figure gown trailing behind her like a royal train.
"Where is that little mouse of a wife of yours, Evan?" Celeste purred loudly, strutting over to her brother with her new husband in tow.
"She wasn't feeling well, so she decided to rest in the back quarters," Evan offered smoothly, slipping right back into his rehearsed lie.
"Probably for the best," Celeste laughed maliciously, loud enough for several nearby senators and socialites to hear clearly.
"Her dress looked like it was bought off the clearance rack of a regional department store anyway," she added, sipping her champagne.
"It would have completely ruined the aesthetic of the official Vanity Fair society spread we have booked for midnight."
Evan let out a polite, cowardly chuckle, nodding in agreement with his sister’s cruel joke while avoiding his mother's knowing gaze.
In the pocket of his tailored slacks, Evan felt his phone vibrate once, twice, three times in rapid, urgent succession.
He pulled the device out slightly under the tablecloth, seeing notifications flashing from an unknown, high-priority emergency line.
He recognized the area code as the capital bureau, the very division Claire had always claimed to work for in her boring routine.
Fearing that Claire was calling him from inside the bathroom to beg for freedom, Evan sneered with annoyance.
He slid his thumb across the screen and deliberately switched the phone completely off, shoving it back into his pocket.
"No distractions tonight," Evan whispered to himself, taking another long swallow of the two-thousand-dollar vintage wine.
He looked toward the grand entrance of the ballroom, expecting to see the governor’s security detail arriving for the ceremonial toast.
What he did not notice was the faint, rhythmic thumping echoing across the distant hills surrounding the private valley.
What he did not see were the tactical strobe lights beginning to reflect off the outer grape arbors three miles down the private drive.
The Bellacourt family had spent forty years bribing local sheriffs, buying off tax assessors, and destroying anyone who stood in their way.
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They believed they were gods within their valley, untouchable by the laws that governed ordinary mortals.
They had no idea that the woman they had discarded like trash in an unventilated restroom had already signed their death warrants.
