Chapter 5 - Whispers in the Chapel
The interior of Bethesda-by-the-Sea was a theater of manufactured luxury. The pipe organ hummed with a low, majestic vibration that vibrated through the floorboards.
Four hundred guests sat in carved oak pews. On the right side sat the Whitaker faction—men with silver hair, custom-tailored suits, federal clerk pins, and generational wealth stamped into their quiet, understated posture.
On the left side sat the Ellison faction—or rather, the crowd Felix and Vivian had scraped together: local club members, leveraged real estate agents, second-tier socialites, and people who drank too much at cocktail parties.
I walked down the side aisle toward the front.
In the small vestibule near the altar, Serena stood behind frosted glass, surrounded by her bridesmaids. She saw me approaching through the open door and immediately shoved her way past them, her face flushed with fury beneath her heavy veil.
“What the hell are you doing walking down the main aisle?” Serena hissed through the tulle fabric, her hands gripping the bouquet of white roses so hard the stems were snapping. “Mom told you to stay in the back! And why are you wearing that black coat? You look like you’re going to a funeral!”
“Maybe I am,” I replied calmly.
Julian Whitaker appeared beside her, smoothing his tuxedo jacket with jittery, hyperactive fingers. His eyes were wide, the pupils slightly dilated, darting nervously toward the entrance of the chapel.
“Serena, baby, who is this?” Julian asked, his voice tight, cracking slightly under the strain. “Is this the sister? The clerk?”
“Yes! The embarrassment I told you about,” Serena sneered, turning her back on me to fix Julian’s boutonniere. “Just ignore her. Did you make sure your uncle sat in Table One for the reception? The Palm Beach Daily News photographer is waiting outside.”
“Yeah, yeah, Table One,” Julian muttered, pulling out a monogrammed handkerchief and wiping his forehead. “Listen, Serena... the minister said we need to sign the civil registry right after the ceremony. Did your dad... did your dad wire the escrow balance to the trust account like he promised this morning?”
Serena froze. Her fingers paused on Julian’s lapel.
“Of course he did,” Serena lied smoothly, a practiced, venomous smile spreading across her lips. “He handled it before breakfast. You have nothing to worry about, darling. Our family’s estate is entirely liquid.”
I stood three feet away, watching two con artists lie to each other’s faces at the altar of God.
It was almost art.
“Julian,” I said, speaking up for the first time.
Julian turned, blinking at me with irritation. “What?”
“The two gentlemen in the gray Crown Vic parked behind the choir hall?” I tilted my head toward the stained-glass window. “They asked me to remind you that your thirty-day extension on the Cayman shell fund expired at midnight. They have asset forfeiture papers signed by the 11th Circuit Court.”
Julian’s skin turned the color of ash. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. The bouquet in Serena’s hand shook violently.
“What... what did she just say?” Serena turned on Julian, her voice cracking. “Julian, what is she talking about?”
“Nothing! She’s crazy!” Julian hissed, grabbing Serena’s arm with enough force to bruise her flesh. “She’s a goddamn low-level Navy clerk who doesn't know what she’s talking about! Shut up, Celeste, or I’ll have security drag you into the street!”
“Try it,” I said softly.
The organ suddenly swelled into the thunderous chords of the bridal march.
The double doors of the sanctuary swung wide open. Four hundred guests rose to their feet in unison, their heads turning toward the back of the chapel.
Felix Ellison stood at the end of the aisle, his chest puffed out like a dying pigeon, waiting to walk Serena to the altar.
May you like
“Showtime, little sister,” I whispered, stepping back into the shadows of the choir stall. “Enjoy the march. The cliff comes right after the vows.”
***