Chapter 4 - The Whitaker Patriarch Arrives
The chapel at Bethesda-by-the-Sea was an architectural monument to old Episcopal wealth. Gothic stone arches reached toward the humid blue sky, surrounded by manicured royal palms and blooming white orchids that were currently drooping slightly in the Florida heat.
The parking lot was a sea of Bentley Continentals, Mercedes Maybachs, and vintage Rolls-Royces.
When Marcus pulled our black Cadillac Escalade up to the guest drop-off, the parking valet hesitated, eyeing the government plates before sprinting forward to open my door.
I stepped out into the crushing heat, my black cashmere coat buttoned tight, my spine straight, my eyes scanning the perimeter like a squad leader entering an unsecured courtyard.
Ahead on the stone stairs stood my father, Felix.
He was sweating profusely through his rented morning suit, clutching a silk handkerchief, his face stretched into a desperate, grotesque rictus of a smile. Beside him stood Vivian, wearing a lavender silk dress that clashed horribly with the red, furious blotches on her neck where she had been stress-scratching.
They were bowing and scraping before a tall, silver-haired man in a bespoke charcoal suit who moved with the slow, terrifying gravity of an avalanche.
*Federal Judge Callahan Whitaker.*
He was seventy-two years old, standing six-foot-three, with shoulders that hadn't surrendered to age. His eyes, deep-set beneath thick gray brows, looked at Felix Ellison like a microscope looking at pond water.
“Judge Whitaker! An absolute honor, sir! A monumental honor!” Felix was stammering, pumping Callahan’s hand with both of his, nearly tripping over his own patent leather shoes. “Our family... we are just so deeply humbled to unite our lineages today! Serena has spoken so passionately about your legacy!”
Callahan extracted his hand with cold, deliberate precision, wiping his palm discreetly with a pocket square.
“Julian’s legacy is what concerns me today, Mr. Ellison,” Callahan’s voice sounded like grinding river stones. “I am here to see if my nephew has finally acquired the discipline of a grown man, or if this is another one of his vanity projects.”
Vivian chimed in, her voice shrill and breathy. “Oh, Julian is a visionary, Judge! Just like my Serena! Two young, brilliant minds destined for the top!”
Callahan didn't answer. His gaze drifted past them, toward the stone steps.
Toward me.
I was ascending the stairs with measured, silent strides. My boots made no sound against the coral stone. My chin was lifted, my shoulders locked, the black coat draping over my frame like a battle standard.
For a fraction of a second, Callahan’s eyes narrowed. A flicker of recognition—a ghost of a memory from an underground bunker in Miami—flashed across his weathered features. But before he could process the silhouette, Vivian spotted me.
Vivian gasped, her face twisting in pure panic. She lunged forward, grabbing my father’s arm and hissing in his ear.
Felix turned, saw me, and his face turned the color of raw liver.
“Excuse me for a moment, Your Honor,” Felix choked out, bowing toward Callahan before hurrying down the steps toward me, his hand waving frantically like he was shooing away a rabid dog.
“What are you doing here?” Felix snarled under his breath as he intercepted me at the landing, his sour breath washing over my face. “And why are you wearing a winter coat in eighty-degree weather? Are you insane?”
“I’m here for the wedding, Father,” I said, my voice completely devoid of emotion. “I am the maid of honor, remember? Or did Serena replace me with a bridesmaid whose dress didn't bounce at the checkout?”
Felix flinched, glancing nervously over his shoulder at Judge Whitaker, who was being escorted into the sanctuary by Julian Whitaker himself—a slick, pomaded young man with nervous sweat already soaking through his collar.
“Listen to me, you ungrateful little brat,” Felix hissed, stepping so close his spit hit the lapel of my coat. “Julian’s family is inside. The most powerful judicial names on the Eastern Seaboard are sitting in those pews. You will take that ridiculous coat off, you will sit in the very last pew behind the pillar, and you will not say a single goddamn word to anyone. If you embarrass Serena today, if you ruin this marriage, I swear to God I will cut you out of every family record.”
I looked down at the man who had given me half my DNA.
I saw no father. I saw a hollow, frightened, broke parasite who had spent his entire life trying to buy dignity with counterfeit coins.
“You already cut me out, Felix,” I whispered, leaning in until my eyes pinned his. “Thirteen years ago. Now get out of my way before I drop you on this concrete.”
Felix took half a step back, his throat working convulsively, paralyzed by the cold, absolute lethality in my gaze.
I brushed past him, my shoulder clipping his so hard he stumbled off balance, his arms flailing like a scarecrow.
May you like
I walked through the heavy wooden arches of the chapel, straight toward the lion’s den.
***