The music abruptly stopped. The organist had pulled his hands away from the keys as if they had burned him.
The silence that fell over the cathedral was absolute, heavy, and suffocating.
Marcus blinked, the smug smile freezing on his face. “What did you say?”
“The buyout,” Richard said, his voice rising in sheer panic. “The email just hit my inbox. Vanguard Holdings has formally canceled the acquisition. They’re triggering the penalty clauses. Marcus… they’re calling in the debt. All of it. Effective immediately.”
Evelyn stumbled backward, her heel catching on the marble. “That’s impossible! We signed the letter of intent yesterday! Arthur Sterling himself approved it!”
“Arthur Sterling just rescinded it!” Richard yelled, losing all professional composure. He waved the phone in the air. “The deal is dead, Evelyn! We’re bankrupt! As of right now, Sinclair Logistics is underwater by four hundred million dollars!”
Marcus’s face turned the color of ash. He stared at Richard, then down at his own phone, which had just started vibrating violently in his pocket. He pulled it out, his thumb swiping frantically. I watched his eyes dart back and forth across the screen as he read the automated alert from his own legal team.
The billion dollars was gone.
Chloe, who had stopped halfway down the aisle, dropped her bouquet of imported orchids. The flowers hit the stone floor with a soft, pathetic thud. She looked at Marcus, her own smile completely vanished. Her father, sitting near the front, was already on his feet, aggressively dialing a number on his phone and shaking his head at his daughter.
“No,” Marcus whispered, staring at his screen. “No, no, no, this has to be a mistake. We had a deal. We had a guaranteed deal.”
He looked up, his panic-stricken eyes scanning the room, begging for an answer.
And then, his gaze landed on Arthur, who was calmly slipping his black smartphone back into his tuxedo pocket.
And then, Marcus looked at me.
Chapter 2: The House of Cards
The transition in the cathedral was terrifyingly fast. One second, it was the social event of the season, a masterclass in wealth and arrogance. The next, it was a sinking ship, and the rats were already scrambling.
“What did you do?” Marcus demanded. He took a step toward me, the polished, arrogant groom entirely replaced by a desperate, sweating man. “Maya, who is that man? What the hell did he just do?”
“That is Arthur,” I said, my voice finally ringing out clear and loud in the massive room. I didn’t shout. I didn’t need to. The silence in the cathedral was so profound you could hear the panicked breathing of the executives in the front row.
“I know his name is Arthur!” Evelyn shrieked, entirely losing her aristocratic composure. She pushed past the bridesmaids, her gold sequins shaking. “He’s your uncle, or your guardian, or whatever pathetic charity case relative you brought today! How does he know about Vanguard? Why is Richard saying the deal is dead?”
Arthur stepped forward. He didn’t look like a poor relative. Anyone paying attention to the cut of his suit, the steady, unblinking authority in his eyes, or the way the bank executives in the front row were suddenly staring at him in sheer terror, would have known exactly what he was.