CHAPTER 2: THE RECEPTION TURNS
The ballroom doors swung wide.
Three hundred elite guests turned as one.
Music slowed.
Voices faded.
And we walked in—not as outcasts—but as a storm.
Sarah stood tall beside me, her prosthetic still functional despite the opened casing. In my hand, I held the capsule.
Harrison stood near the stage, confusion written all over his face.
“Hey—what’s going on?” he called out.
Eleanor rushed forward, her composure cracking.
“Don’t listen to them,” she snapped. “They’re trying to cause a scene.”
“Oh, I am causing a scene,” I said, my voice carrying across the room.
I lifted the capsule.
“And this—this is why.”
A murmur spread.
Board members. Investors. Lawyers.
People who understood what evidence looked like.
Eleanor’s voice sharpened. “That’s ridiculous. You think anyone here cares about your little drama?”
I locked eyes with one of the senior partners from my father’s old firm.
“Oh, I think they will,” I said. “Especially when it involves eighty million dollars… and forged signatures from a dying man.”
Silence hit like a bomb.
Harrison turned slowly toward his mother.
“…What?”
Eleanor laughed—but it was brittle.
“This is insane. Completely fabricated.”
“Then you won’t mind if we play it,” I said.
May you like
I turned toward the DJ booth.
“Got a screen?”
