Chapter 2 - THE UNMASKING AT THE ALTAR
The cathedral fell into a dead, terrifying silence as Ethan lowered the master microphone from its stand. His eyes were dark, burning with a cold, terrifying fury that no one in his family had ever seen before.
Olivia’s smirk wavered slightly as Ethan stepped between her and Clara. “Ethan, darling,” Olivia said smoothly, lowering the wig to her side. “Don’t be mad at me. I saved you! You were about to tie yourself to a broken woman. Look at her! She’s damaged goods, Ethan. Mother and I did this for your own good.”
Ethan didn't look at Olivia. Instead, he stepped directly in front of Clara. He reached out with both hands, gently taking her cold, trembling fingers in his. He looked down into her eyes, his expression softening instantly.
"You are the most beautiful woman in this room," Ethan said, his voice amplified across the entire church through the cathedral’s sound system. "You are stronger than anyone sitting in these pews, and I am honored to spend the rest of my life with you."
Clara felt a tear slip down her cheek, but this time it wasn't from shame. It was from relief.
Ethan turned slowly to face his sister and his mother.
"Olivia," Ethan said, his voice dropping into a register that sent a chill through the congregation. "You think you just exposed my wife’s weakness? All you did was expose your own repulsive cruelty."
Margaret Blackwood stood up from her seat in the front row, adjusting her pearl necklace with an annoyed expression. "Ethan! That is enough! Stop making a scene in front of our investors! Hand that girl her coat, tell her to leave through the side door, and we will handle the press tomorrow. This wedding is over."
"The wedding isn't over, Mother," Ethan replied coldly into the microphone. "Your control over this family is."
Ethan reached into the inner pocket of his tuxedo jacket and pulled out a small black remote control with a single red button. He pointed it directly at the church’s multimedia control booth in the choir loft.
"Press play, Marcus," Ethan called out.
High above the pews, the sound engineer clicked a button. Suddenly, the high-definition projection screens on either side of the altar—originally set up to show a romantic slideshow of the couple’s photos—flashed bright white before switching to a clear video feed.
The audio roared through the cathedral’s speakers, crisp and unedited.
"We need to make sure the Montgomery girl doesn't sign the joint estate paperwork before the merger," Margaret’s voice boomed through the sanctuary. The video showed Margaret sitting in her private office at Blackwood Medical headquarters three weeks ago, swirling a glass of scotch.
"Don't worry, Mother," Olivia’s recorded voice replied on the screen. "If the chemo doesn't finish her off, I'll make sure she's so humiliated at the wedding that she runs away crying. Once Ethan sees how pathetic she looks without her fake hair, he'll agree to sign the power of attorney over to us."
"Good," Margaret’s voice continued cold and calculated. "The board can't find out that we've been embezzling from the research and development fund to cover our private debts. Once Ethan owns her family's trust, we can transfer the funds and cover the deficit."
Gasps erupted across the cathedral like lightning strikes.
Several prominent board members of Blackwood Medical Group stood up in their pews, their faces red with anger. Shareholders began pulling out their phones, frantically calling their brokers.
Margaret’s face drained of all color. She gripped the edge of the pew, her knuckles turning white. "Turn that off! Turn it off right now!" she screamed, her polished composure completely shattering. "That's fake! That's an AI manipulation!"
"It's not fake, Margaret," Clara spoke up, her voice calm, clear, and perfectly projected through the pearl microphone on her bodice.
Clara stepped forward, standing side-by-side with Ethan. "That recording was verified by three independent forensic digital firms yesterday morning. And it's already been forwarded to the Securities and Exchange Commission, along with the state prosecutor’s office."
Olivia backed away, dropping the wig onto the marble steps as if it had suddenly caught fire. "Ethan... you... you set us up?"
"No, Olivia," Ethan said, looking at his sister with pure disgust. "You set yourselves up the moment you mistook Clara’s kindness for vulnerability."
Clara looked directly at Margaret, who was trembling in rage in the aisle.
"You thought I was a helpless sick girl who needed your family's money," Clara said softly, her voice carrying an unshakable authority. "You thought you were buying control over Montgomery Investment Fund. But you forgot to check who was buying Blackwood Medical stock over the last three months."
Clara motioned to the rear of the cathedral.
The heavy oak doors swung open wide. Four men in tailored charcoal suits walked down the center aisle, led by Clara’s chief legal counsel, Arthur Vance. Behind them stepped two uniformed officers from the Financial Crimes Unit.
Arthur Vance unbuttoned his suit jacket and pulled a thick leather folio from his briefcase.
"Margaret Blackwood," Vance announced loudly, his voice echoing over the hushed crowd. "As of eight o'clock this morning, Clara Montgomery-Blackwood owns fifty-one percent of the voting shares of Blackwood Medical Group. An emergency board meeting was held two hours ago. By majority vote, you have been officially removed from your position as Chief Executive Officer."
Margaret gasped, clutching her chest. "That's impossible! I hold forty percent! My family—"
"Your family sold twelve percent of their restricted shares last month to cover your secret offshore gambling debts in Macau, Mrs. Blackwood," Vance interrupted coolly. "Miss Montgomery purchased those shares through an intermediary. You are no longer the head of the company. In fact, you don't even have access to the building."
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The chapel exploded into chaos. Reporters who had snuck into the back pews began flashing cameras rapidly. Olivia sank to her knees on the marble floor, her face buried in her hands as she realized the magnitude of what had just happened.
Ethan took the microphone one last time. "Father," he said, turning to the stunned priest standing near the alter. "Please finish the ceremony. My wife and I have a company to run."
