Chapter 3 - The Forensics of Betrayal
Marcus’s office looked less like a corporate suite and more like the command center of a sci-fi thriller. Rows of glowing monitors flickered with cascading lines of code, digital schematics, and satellite maps.
Marcus had set up a comfortable cot in the corner for Noah, who had finally drifted off to a deep, exhausted sleep wrapped in a heavy wool blanket.
I stood beside Marcus at his main workstation while he typed furiously on a mechanical keyboard. On the screen in front of us was a high-resolution photograph I had secretly snapped with my phone’s macro lens right before we fled the table—a close-up of the device wired to the underside of the mahogany table.
“Well, Clara,” Marcus muttered, adjusting his glasses as he zoomed in on the circuit board visible in the photo. “This isn’t something you buy off a spy gadget website. This is military-grade tier-two hardware. Encrypted frequency, localized Wi-Fi relay, and real-time cloud uploading.”
“Can you trace where the signal was broadcasting?” I asked, leaning forward over the desk.
“Already did,” Marcus said, hitting a final enter key. A secondary window popped up on the screen, displaying a digital blueprint of the Grand Astoria Ballroom layout. A pulsing red dot blinked furiously near the back of the building.
“The signal wasn't going to a cloud server in another state,” Marcus explained, pointing at the flashing red dot. “It was being transmitted on a closed local network. Range is limited to about five hundred feet max. That means whoever was watching the live feed... was inside the building.”
My breath hitched. “Inside? During the reception?”
“ précisément,” Marcus nodded grimly. “Look at the placement of the dot relative to the floor plan. That room isn't the control booth. That’s the private VIP holding suite directly behind the main stage. The room reserved exclusively for the groom and his closest associates.”
The groom.
Julian Vance.
A wave of nausea hit me. Julian was a man I had never quite trusted. He was impossibly charming, unnaturally wealthy, and possessed a quiet, calculating ambition that he hid behind expensive bespoke suits and dazzling smiles. Rose had been completely smitten with him from the moment they met six months ago, rushing into a lavish, multi-million-dollar wedding that Julian had insisted on paying for entirely out of pocket.
“Why would Julian plant a recording device under my table?” I whispered aloud, trying to piece together the terrifying puzzle. “I’m just Rose’s older sister. I’m a graphic designer living paycheck to paycheck. I have nothing to do with his business empire.”
Marcus leaned back in his leather chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “Maybe it’s not about your money, Clara. Maybe it’s about what you know. Or what he thinks you might uncover.”
Before I could answer, my phone buzzed violently on the metal desk.
It was a text message from an unknown number.
May you like
I looked down at the glowing screen, my heart stopping dead in my chest as I read the words:
Nice try running away, Clara. But you can't hide from family. Check your front porch when you get home.
