The Moon Manor ballroom was a sea of silk and hypocrisy.
Harl Moon stood by the champagne tower, sweating. The investors were asking questions. Where was the groom? Where was the bride?
On the giant screen, Jenna was finishing her speech. "...we pray for Kaela's safety."
The crowd murmured.
"I heard she was turning tricks in Detroit," a woman whispered.
"Sad. Bad blood," another replied.
Charlee Carr, a socialite in a dress that cost more than a car, laughed loudly. "She probably pawned the engagement ring for a fix. She's not coming."
Candace Moon dabbed her dry eyes. "We tried so hard to save her."
Suddenly, the crystal chandelier above them began to tremble.
A low thrumming sound vibrated through the floorboards. It grew louder. A rhythmic thwup-thwup-thwup that drowned out the string quartet.
"Earthquake?" someone shouted.
The French doors rattled in their frames.
Outside, on the manicured Great Lawn, a storm descended.
A massive Sikorsky S-76 helicopter, painted matte black with a gold 'K' on the tail, flared for a landing. The rotor wash tore through the garden, ripping up flower beds and sending patio umbrellas cartwheeling across the grass.
The guests rushed to the windows.
"Is that... is that a Kaufman bird?" Harl asked, his face draining of color.
The helicopter touched down. The side door slid open.
Four security guards in tactical suits jumped out, unrolling a red carpet across the grass.
Then, a leg emerged. A stiletto heel.
Kaela stepped out.
She wasn't wearing flannel. She was wearing a backless, midnight-blue gown that clung to her like liquid shadow. It was a dress Barron had kept on the jet for "emergencies." Her hair was slicked back, her makeup sharp and severe. She was the spitting image of her sister, Jenna, but with an edge of danger Jenna could only dream of.
She turned back to the cabin and extended a hand.
Two guards lifted Barron out and placed him in his wheelchair. He looked frail, his head listing to the side, a tuxedo hanging loosely on his frame.
Kaela gripped the handles of the chair. She didn't look like a victim. She looked like a queen returning to execute her subjects.
She pushed the chair toward the ballroom doors.
Inside, Candace dropped her champagne flute. It shattered.
Jenna's mouth hung open on the giant screen behind her.
The bride had arrived. Or so they thought.
