Chapter 4 - The Eve of the Altar
Friday night—the eve of the wedding.
A heavy, suffocating silence hung over Ravenwood Estate.
The rain had finally stopped, leaving behind a thick, freezing fog that clung to the dark hemlock trees surrounding the grounds. The mansion was completely decorated. White satin ribbons fluttered from the grand wrought-iron gates, thousands of imported roses filled the grand foyer with a heavy, sickly sweet fragrance, and crystal chandeliers threw brilliant, glittering patterns across the stone walls.
The house was empty now, save for Vivien and myself.
Clara and Emma had been safely evacuated at midnight twenty-four hours earlier under the guise of visiting Clara's sister in Philadelphia for the weekend. The remaining household staff had been sent home early to prepare for tomorrow's grand event.
I stood by the drawing-room fireplace, a crystal glass of eighteen-year-old scotch balanced in my hand, watching the amber flames lick against the black hearth stones.
Footsteps sounded on the hardwood behind me.
Vivien walked into the room.
She was wearing a stunning, wine-red velvet dinner dress that hugged her slenderness perfectly. Her blond hair was down, falling in soft waves over her shoulders. She looked breathtaking—a masterpiece of beauty and deception.
"Julian," she murmured, walking up behind me, wrapping her delicate arms around my waist, resting her chin against my shoulder. "It's so quiet tonight. It almost feels like we're the only two people left in the world."
"We very well might be," I said softly, staring into the fire, taking a slow sip of my scotch.
"Are you nervous about tomorrow?" she asked, her hands gently rubbing my chest. "About standing in front of six hundred people and promising forever?"
I turned slowly in her arms, looking down into her clear blue eyes. I reached up and stroked her soft, pale cheek with the back of my fingers.
"I'm not nervous about the promise, Vivien," I said quietly. "I'm just thinking about how strange it is that a person can live an entire life, build an empire, build walls forty feet high, and then open the front gate for a single beautiful face."
Her eyes flickered slightly, a faint shadow of uncertainty crossing her features. "What a poetic thing to say, darling. You sound like a man giving a farewell speech."
"Do I?" I smiled, lowering my hand to take her wrist, feeling the quick, light thrum of her pulse against my palm. "Perhaps I am saying goodbye to my old life. After tomorrow, everything changes."
"Yes," she whispered, a triumphant, subtle glitter shining deep within her eyes. "After tomorrow, everything changes."
"Have you checked your phone tonight, my love?" I asked casually, letting go of her wrist and leaning back against the marble mantelpiece. "I believe the florist sent a final update regarding the altar arrangements."
"Oh, I left my purse upstairs in the bedroom," she said lightly, turning toward the door. "I'll go grab it."
"Take your time," I said. "We have all night."
I watched her walk out of the room, her wine-red dress trailing behind her like a line of spilling blood.
As soon as her heels began to click up the central staircase, I pulled a small black device from my vest pocket—a portable signal jammer. I flipped the toggle switch to the 'ON' position. A tiny green LED light glowed to life.
Within a hundred-yard radius, every cellular frequency, Wi-Fi network, and specialized radio burst transmission was instantly cut off, deadened into absolute silence.
Upstairs, Vivien would currently be opening her makeup compact to send her final confirmation signal to the FBI van parked in the woods. She would see the red error light flashing on her transmitter. She would try her cell phone. No signal. She would try the landline in the master suite. Dead tone.
I finished my scotch, set the crystal glass down on the mantel, and walked slowly down the West Wing gallery toward my study.
I did not lock the study door behind me. I left it open five inches—exactly as it had been on Monday afternoon when little Emma had stood outside.
I walked over to the south wall, swung the Rothko painting aside, and deliberately pulled the heavy steel safe door open, leaving it wide, gaping, and exposed. Inside sat the blue folder containing the altered manifests—the ones that pointed directly at the Moretti family's Queens weapons cache.
Then, I sat down in my leather chair behind the desk, turned off the desk lamp, and waited in the pitch-black darkness.
Three minutes passed.
Then came the soft, rapid sound of barefoot steps moving down the hardwood corridor.
The study door pushed open wider.
A thin ray of pale moonlight from the gallery windows cut across the dark floor.
Vivien stepped into the room.
She was holding her phone in her right hand, her thumb frantically pressing the screen, her face pale with mounting panic in the dim light. She saw the open safe. She saw the swung-aside Rothko.
She stopped dead in her tracks, her breath catching violently in her throat.
"Looking for a signal, Vivien?" I asked from the shadows behind the desk.
She let out a sharp, terrified gasp, jumping back toward the door, her phone slipping from her fingers and clattering loudly onto the Persian rug.
I reached out and clicked the desk lamp on.
The warm yellow light flooded the room, illuminating her wide, terrified blue eyes, her trembling lips, and the stark, sickening horror spreading across her pale face.
"Julian..." she whispered, her voice cracking completely. "I... I saw the safe was open... I came in to check—"
"Save it," I said flatly, my voice cold as iron. "The signal jammer is active. Your friends in the Ford van down the road are currently looking at a dead monitor screen. Agent Vance isn't coming. Dominic isn't coming. And the Moretti family is currently preparing for an FBI raid that you inadvertently set up for them three hours ago."
She backed up until her spine hit the mahogany doorframe, her chest heaving violently, all her rehearsed poise and elegant composure crumbling into dust.
"You knew," she breathed, her voice trembling with horror. "How long... how long have you known?"
"Since Monday afternoon," I said, standing up slowly from behind my desk, buttoning my suit jacket. "Since a three-year-old girl in a grey dress stood outside this door and told me that Aunt Vivien was inside again."
Vivien stared at me, her jaw trembling, complete disbelief shining in her eyes. "A child? A child broke my cover?"
"Children don't know how to lie for a living, Vivien," I said, walking slowly around the mahogany desk until I stood three feet in front of her. "That makes them far more dangerous than any federal agent."
She looked at me, her eyes filling with sudden, desperate tears, her hands trembling as she reached out toward my chest. "Julian... please... you don't understand... they had a leverage file on my father... Dominic threatened my family... I had no choice—"
I reached out, caught her hands in mid-air, and firmly, coldly pushed them down to her sides.
"I gave you my heart, Vivien," I whispered, looking down into her crying face without a single shred of warmth. "I gave you my home. I gave you my father's ring. And you sold it all for a gold badge and a promise from an exile."
I stepped back and raised my voice slightly.
"Marco."
The side door to the study—the concealed entrance behind the bookcase—swung open silently.
Marco walked into the room, followed by two heavy-set men in dark suits carrying black zip-ties and tactical duffel bags.
Vivien let out a choked scream, backing further into the corner. "Julian! No! Please! Don't do this!"
"You aren't going to be harmed, Vivien," I said, turning my back on her as Marco's men stepped forward and efficiently pinned her arms behind her back, securing her wrists with heavy plastic ties. "You're going to spend the next forty-eight hours in a very comfortable, windowless room in Bernardsville. And tomorrow morning, you are going to put on your white silk wedding dress, you are going to walk down that cathedral aisle, and you are going to play your part until the final curtain falls."
She sobbed hysterically as Marco pulled a soft black blindfold over her eyes. "Why?! If you know everything, why carry on with the wedding?!"
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I paused at the study door, looking back at her over my shoulder through the dim yellow light.
"Because six hundred people are coming to see a spectacle, Vivien," I said quietly. "And a Vance always delivers on his promises."
