Chapter 6 - The Uninvited Guest
The garden ceremony was breathtaking.
White rose petals carpeted the green lawn from the manor steps all the way down to the riverfront altar, where Daniel Whitmore stood waiting in a sharp tuxedo, flanked by his groomsmen. Three hundred society guests sat in rows of white folding chairs, murmuring appreciatively as the wedding march echoed across the estate.
At the back of the assembly, standing quietly near the wrought-iron garden gates, Grace slipped into the crowd unnoticed.
She didn't belong here. In her plain black uniform, she stood out against the sea of pastel dresses and tailored Italian suits like a shadow at noon.
She checked her pocket. The flash drive was still there.
Her original plan had been to slide the drive onto Daniel’s desk after the reception, or perhaps slip it to his mother, Evelyn Whitmore, before the dinner toast.
Then she saw Vanessa step out onto the terrace at the top of the stone steps.
The bride looked magnificent. The sunlight caught the cascading folds of her silk gown, and the twelve-thousand-dollar French lace veil billowed slightly in the river breeze, floating behind her like an angelic halo.
At the altar, Daniel smiled—a polite, dutiful smile, but his eyes were entirely empty.
Vanessa began her slow, measured walk down the white rose-strewn aisle. Guests turned in their seats, smiling and whispering.
Grace’s heart hammered in her throat.
If she reaches that altar, if she marries him, she wins. The money is gone. The trust is broken.
Grace took a step forward from the shadows of the garden gate.
“Excuse me,” she muttered, nudging past a startled florist carrying a tray of extra rose petals.
She began walking down the outer edge of the seating rows, heading straight toward the central aisle.
Up ahead, Vanessa was halfway down the aisle, her arm linked through her father’s, a radiant, triumphant smile plastered across her face.
Daniel stood at the altar, waiting.
Grace reached the edge of the aisle just as Vanessa approached the third row of guests.
“Stop the wedding,” Grace said.
Her voice wasn't a shout. It wasn't even particularly loud. But it was sharp, clear, and cut through the soaring notes of the wedding march like a knife through silk.
The music stuttered and died. The violinist’s bow scraped across the strings in a harsh, discordant screech.
Three hundred heads whipped around in unison.
Vanessa stopped dead in her tracks, her triumphant smile vanishing instantly, replaced by a look of sheer, unadulterated terror.
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At the altar, Daniel frowned, stepping forward from the flower arch. “What... what is the meaning of this?”
Grace stepped directly into the center of the white rose petal aisle, standing tall in her plain black housekeeping uniform, blocking the bride’s path to the altar.
