The entire ballroom seemed to hold its breath. Marcus, caught in the sudden glare of the live broadcast, looked like a deer in headlights. His security detail, trained for quiet escorts, not public spectacle, shifted awkwardly.
Just then, across the room, I caught a glimpse of Gerald Fontenot. Marcus’s lead accountant, a man known for his meticulous, if ethically flexible, financial records. He was by the grand double doors, speaking animatedly into a burner phone.
His eyes darted nervously between Marcus and the camera crews. He saw me looking. A flicker of panic crossed his face.
Gerald’s conversation ended abruptly. He shoved the phone into his pocket and started for the exit, not even bothering to offer his congratulations to the non-existent bride and groom. He moved with a speed that belied his usual placid demeanor, a man on a mission.
“He’s making a run for it,” Devon murmured beside me, his eyes tracking Gerald’s hurried retreat. “Must be heading for the label’s servers.”
My stomach clenched. If Gerald wiped the digital ledgers, Devon’s case, my case, would be significantly harder to prove. Millions of dollars, years of my life’s work, hanging in the balance.
But Devon wasn’t just a journalist. He was methodical, prepared.
As Gerald Fontenot reached the main exit doors, two young men, dressed sharply, almost indistinguishable from other wedding guests, stepped directly into his path. They held up small badges—*Billboard Legal Staff*.
Gerald tried to sidestep them, his face contorted in a silent plea to be let through.
One of the men, lean and focused, calmly extended a folded document. “Mr. Fontenot?” he asked, his voice clear even from a distance.
Gerald paused, his eyes wide with a desperate hope it wasn’t what he thought.
“You’ve been served,” the young man stated, handing him the subpoena. “Federal audit. Crown Royalty Records. Effective immediately.”
The other assistant, carrying a tablet, began speaking into a headset. “Audit trail intercepted. Server access locked. Remote backup initiated.”
Gerald’s shoulders slumped. The color drained from his face as he stared at the document in his hand. The subpoena was clearly visible to a nearby camera crew who quickly zoomed in. The red light on their camera flashed, capturing his moment of public defeat.
A ripple of hushed gasps spread through the nearby guests. They had come for a wedding, for glamour, for gossip. They were getting a front-row seat to a corporate implosion.
Marcus, still fuming at his spot by the altar, watched Gerald’s humiliation unfold. His jaw hung open, his rage momentarily eclipsed by a dawning comprehension of the disaster spiraling out of his control. This wasn’t just Evelyn’s arrival. This was a full-scale assault.
Devon leaned in, a glint in his eye. “Round one, I’d say. He won’t be wiping any evidence tonight.”
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