Chapter 6: The Mother’s Day Massacre
The Briarwood ballroom was a masterclass in aggressive opulence. Ambient amber lighting bathed the room, reflecting off sixty circular tables draped in heavy white damask. A raised stage dominated the far wall, featuring a podium and an oversized projection screen cycling images of smiling children.
Judith descended upon the venue at 5:45 PM, draped in a bespoke emerald gown, her earlobes heavy with diamonds. She surveyed the room like a monarch inspecting her troops.
I arrived fifteen minutes later, wearing a subdued, high-necked navy dress and sensible black flats. I knew I wouldn’t be sitting for a long time.
Paige intercepted me in the lobby, thrusting a plastic clip-on badge into my chest. It read: MYRA. “We simply ran out of the formal, embossed cards with the last names,” she lied smoothly. “You know how chaotic the printers are.”
I pinned the badge to my collar and took my post at the double doors. For ninety grueling minutes, I functioned as human wallpaper. I shook the hands of two state senators, the mayor, and a sweet, silver-haired retired teacher named Deborah Aldridge, who patted my arm and said, “You must be Grant’s bride. He’s a very fortunate boy.”
Inside the hall, Grant was already entrenched at Table 1. I watched from afar as he signaled a waiter for his third glass of champagne. He hadn’t texted me. He hadn’t looked my way.
During a brief lull in the arrivals line, I slipped back out to the main lobby. The LED donation board was still cycling.
Current Total: $280,000.
