Chapter 8 - The Rehearsal of Deceit
The Cathedral of Christ the King rose like a gothic monument against the pale Atlanta sky. Limousines lined the perimeter of Peachtree Road; valets in crisp white jackets dashed between luxury sedans, and three hundred of the city’s most prominent citizens filled the cavernous, vaulted sanctuary.
Organ music echoed off the stone arches, a low, solemn vibration that resonated through the floorboards.
In the bride's private antechamber near the rear entrance, I stood before an antique mirror, adjusting my pearl earrings.
The heavy oak door swung open, and Naomi Herndon stepped inside.
She was dressed in a regal mother-of-the-groom gown of midnight blue silk, adorned with diamond brooches. She carried herself with the majestic posture of an empress attending a coronation. Behind her, two private ushers stood guard in the hallway.
"Alyssa, darling," she said, shutting the door behind her. Her voice was dripping with that familiar, patronizing sugar. "I wanted to have one final moment with you before you take my son’s name."
I didn't turn around immediately. I met her eyes in the mirror. "Naomi. How kind of you to come back here."
She walked toward me, her sharp, manicured hands coming to rest on my bare shoulders. Her grip was tight, her long nails pressing just hard enough through the lace to serve as an unspoken warning.
"Look at you," she murmured, leaning close to my ear. "A vision. You clean up remarkably well, Alyssa. Elijah was just telling the bank directors out there what a compliant, sensible daughter-in-law you’ve turned out to be."
"Was he?" I asked, keeping my voice neutral.
"You see, darling," Naomi continued, her voice dropping into a low, predatory hiss that sent a thrill of cold disgust down my spine, "marriage is about understanding your place. In this family, Elijah and I make the decisions. Gavin executes them. And the wives... the wives provide the fuel. Brianna didn't understand that at first. She was stubborn. She thought her little family trust belonged to her. She thought she could speak back to me."
Naomi laughed—a dry, rattling sound that sounded like autumn leaves scraping over a tombstone.
"It took quite a few lessons in the basement to teach Brianna how to behave," Naomi whispered, her fingers digging deeper into my flesh. "I hope you won't require the same education, Alyssa. Gavin tells me you were a bit hesitant about the corporate accounts last night. Don't let your independence become a liability, darling. Because once you say 'I do,' you belong to this house. And what happens inside this house is governed entirely by me."
I turned around slowly, breaking her grip.
I looked down at Naomi Herndon. For the first time in eighteen months, I didn't smile. I didn't lower my gaze. I looked at her with the absolute, freezing contempt an exterminator reserves for a cockroach.
"Is that right, Naomi?" I said, my voice utterly devoid of fear.
Naomi blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift in my posture, her brow furrowing in confusion. "Excuse me?"
"You think you’re an empress, Naomi," I said softly, stepping closer until our faces were inches apart. "But you’re just an aging sadist living in a mortgaged house, eating off borrowed silverware, waiting for the police to kick down your door."
Naomi’s face drained of color. The aristocratic veneer shattered, replaced by a sudden, violent rage. Her hand snapped up, her fingers curling into a claw aimed at my cheek. "You ungrateful little—"
Before her hand could make contact, the door behind her burst open.
Marcus Vance stepped into the room, flanked by two plainclothes federal agents whose hands rested menacingly on the holsters beneath their jackets.
"I wouldn't do that, Mrs. Herndon," Marcus said coldly. "Assaulting a witness carries an automatic federal enhancement."
Naomi froze, her hand suspended in mid-air. Her chest heaved, her eyes darting between Marcus and the two agents. "What is this? Who are these men? Elijah! Gavin!"
"Save your breath, Naomi," I said, straightening my veil with absolute poise. "Elijah and Gavin are waiting at the altar. They’re waiting for their twenty million dollars. Let’s not keep them waiting."
"You... you set us up," Naomi gasped, her voice trembling with the first real tendrils of panic. "Brianna... where is Brianna?"
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"Brianna is somewhere you will never be able to touch her again," I said, stepping past her toward the open door. "Now, if you’ll excuse me, Naomi... it’s time for the wedding."
***
