Chapter 7 - The Condemnation Notice
By eleven-thirty, the sky over the Pacific had turned the color of bruised slate. A low pressure system was rolling in, whipping the ocean into white-capped fury that thundered against the basalt bluffs below the Meridian Cliff House.
I arrived at the venue not in an ambulance, but in the passenger seat of an all-black Vanguard corporate SUV, driven by Marcus Sterling. My leg was elevated across the middle console, my cast reinforced, and a pair of heavy-duty aluminum crutches rested behind my seat.
The scene in the resort driveway was sheer chaos.
Three white commercial box trucks from the floral design company were idling near the fountain, their tailgates open, drivers refusing to unload cascading displays of white orchids. Across the veranda, Darcy was screaming at Bradley Finch, the resort general manager.
"What do you mean the ballroom is locked?" Darcy shrieked, her voice carrying over the wind. She was half-dressed in her bridal gown, her silk robe slipping off one shoulder, her hair half-pinned in intricate braids. "My reception starts in three hours! The tables need to be set!"
"Ms. Vance, I don't have a choice," Finch stammered, sweating profusely despite the ocean chill. "The regional inspection office sent a high-priority enforcement directive. The rotunda floor is officially red-tagged."
"I don't care about a tag! Rip it off!" Darcy lunged toward the brass double doors of the Grand Horizon Ballroom, but two uniformed Oregon State Fire Marshals stepped directly into her path.
"Ma'am, step back," the lead marshal barked. "This structure is legally condemned for public assembly. The basalt foundation beneath the primary caissons is undergoing active structural shear. If you put three hundred people in that room, the entire floor could slide sixty feet into the surf."
"You're lying!" Darcy screamed, stamping her bare foot onto the stone terrace. "Sloane did this! This is her fault! She's jealous because she's crippled and unlovable and she wants to destroy my happiness!"
"Actually, Darcy, physics doesn't care about your happiness," I said, leaning out the window of the SUV.
The courtyard went dead silent.
Darcy whipped around. Her eyes bulged as she saw me sitting in the Vanguard executive vehicle, Marcus Sterling standing beside the open driver’s door in a tailored wool overcoat, holding a leather folio stamped with the state seal.
"You," Darcy hissed, marching toward the vehicle, her bridal train dragging through the damp mulch of the driveway. "You called them! You told them to shut down my ballroom!"
"I submitted the structural audit that your friend Bradley Finch tried to conceal for a kickback," I replied, my voice amplified across the courtyard by the natural acoustics of the portico. "The foundation is hollowed out. I saved your life, Darcy. And the lives of the three hundred people you invited to watch you pretend to be rich."
"You ruined everything!" Darcy lunged for the door handle, her hands clawing at the tinted glass. "You canceled the credit card! You had the vendors shut down my flowers! Do you know how much money I owe these people?"
"Forty-seven thousand eight hundred and fifty dollars to Vanguard," Marcus Sterling interjected, stepping smoothly between Darcy and the car. "And another sixty-two thousand to local independent contractors. All signed with forged authorizations using Ms. Sloane Vance’s corporate identity."
"It's a family card!" Darcy screamed, looking around wildly for support. "Mom! Tell him! Tell him she owes me that money!"
Imogen and Gideon had just pulled up in their rental sedan. Imogen ran toward the cluster of marshals, her voice shrill and panicked.
"Officers, arrest that man!" Imogen pointed at Marcus. "He is harassing my daughter on her wedding day! Sloane is mentally unstable—she took an overdose of pills and tried to kill herself on the stairs last night!"
"Is that so, Mrs. Vance?"
The voice came from the main resort terrace.
Callum was standing at the top of the stone stairs. He wasn't wearing his tuxedo. He was wearing dark jeans, a navy sweater, and an overcoat. Beside him stood his father, Senator Vance, and his mother, Eleanor Vance, both dressed in travel clothes, their luggage already loaded onto a resort golf cart.
Callum held a wireless microphone connected to the outdoor sound system that the audio technicians had set up for the ceremony.
May you like
"Callum?" Darcy whispered, her rage suddenly faltering into a desperate, sickening dread. "Callum, darling, what are you wearing? The ceremony is in two hours."
***
