Chapter 6 - THE BRIDE'S TRUE COLORS
"Jackson, no! You can't do this!" Natalie screamed. The composure completely vanished. She lunged forward, grabbing his tuxedo jacket. "I love you! She's manipulating you! She's trying to control us!"
"Get your hands off me!" Jackson roared, shoving her back. The force sent Natalie stumbling into the wedding cake, a towering five-tier confection of white fondant and sugar roses. She crashed into it, sending the cake toppling to the floor in a spectacular explosion of frosting and shattered cake stands.
Covered in white icing and ruined fondant, Natalie sat on the floor, looking like a deranged porcelain doll. Her parents, who had been sitting in paralyzed horror at table one, finally rushed the stage. Her father pointed a shaking finger at me. "You ruined my daughter's life! We'll sue you for everything you have!"
"Sue me?" I raised an eyebrow, stepping down from the podium. "On what grounds? For exposing a crime?"
Natalie scrambled to her feet, wiping cake from her eyes. The humiliation had driven her completely feral. "Keep your stupid money!" she shrieked, pointing at me. "You think you've won? You're a bald, lonely, miserable old hag! Jackson is going to end up just like you—alone! I'm leaving!"
She gathered the skirts of her ruined, frosting-covered Vera Wang gown and began to stomp toward the exit, her bridesmaids scurrying nervously behind her like frightened mice.
"You can leave, Natalie," I called out, my voice projecting clearly across the room. "But you're not taking the tote bag currently sitting in your bridal suite."
Natalie froze halfway down the aisle.
"You see," I continued, walking slowly toward the center of the ballroom. "Grand larceny in this state for items valued over one million dollars carries a mandatory minimum sentence of ten years. The Cartier parure alone is appraised at four point two million."
"I don't have your stupid jewelry!" Natalie lied, panic raising her voice an octave. "I threw it in the river!"
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Right on cue, the heavy oak doors of the ballroom pushed open. But it wasn't the valet. It was four uniformed police officers, accompanied by two detectives in plain clothes. I had made a phone call from the town car on my way to the venue. I had provided the footage. They had been waiting for my signal.
"Natalie Vance?" the lead detective said, stepping into the ballroom. He was holding a large, clear evidence bag. Inside it was Natalie's designer tote bag, and clearly visible through the plastic were the deep red velvet Cartier boxes. "We secured a warrant for the bridal suite. We found these in your belongings."
