My parents burned my wedding invitation to attend my sister's party instead—then a national newsreel of my $40 million oceanfront wedding played in their local theater.
The news of the Hearst Newsreel presence at the Montgomery wedding reached Arthur Hollister like a thunderclap. It wasn’t just a rumor anymore. A competitor at the Boston Shipping Exchange, a man who loathed Arthur, had made a point of mentioning it during their morning coffee.
“Heard your daughter is quite the social butterfly now, Arthur,” the man had sneered, stirring his sugar. “Marrying a Montgomery, no less. And with newsreel cameras, you say? Quite the spectacle for a ‘rest cure’ patient.”
Arthur felt his blood run cold. Newsreel cameras. That meant national distribution. Public humiliation.
He had spent weeks crafting the narrative: Margaret was unstable, delusional, fabricating her life in Newport. This newsreel, if released, would shatter it all. It would show the entire country a grand, legitimate wedding at a $40 million estate, with dignitaries and socialites. It would expose his carefully constructed lie as a malicious fabrication.
He burst into his office, startling Samuel Finch. “Get my car! Immediately! We’re going to the Hearst distributor’s office!”
Finch, who had just tucked another carbon copy of a damning telegram into his ledger, nodded silently and rose from his desk.
The Hearst Newsreel distribution office was a bustling, chaotic hub on the outskirts of Boston, filled with the smell of celluloid and the clatter of film cans. Arthur, with his imposing stature and a carefully cultivated air of authority, swept past the receptionist, demanding to see the manager.
A harried man named Mr. Peterson, with ink-stained fingers and spectacles perched on his nose, emerged from an inner office. He looked at Arthur with mild annoyance.
“Mr. Hollister, what can I do for you?” Peterson asked, clearly impatient.
Arthur drew himself up to his full height. “I am Arthur Hollister, of Hollister Shipping and Magistrates. I understand your company is planning to film a private event involving my daughter, Margaret Hollister, in Newport.”
Peterson raised an eyebrow. “Yes, the Montgomery wedding. A lovely occasion. Good for wartime morale, you understand.”
“It is not a ‘lovely occasion’!” Arthur thundered, slamming his hand on Peterson’s desk. The force made a stack of film reels wobble. “My daughter is suffering from severe mental instability. She is undergoing a ‘rest cure.’ This entire event is a delusion, a fabrication born of her illness!”
Peterson looked bewildered. “Sir, we have all the necessary permissions. Mrs. Eleanor Montgomery herself contacted our offices. We have signed contracts.”
“Those contracts are null and void!” Arthur insisted, his voice rising. “This is defamation! If you dare to release this footage, showing her parading as a sane woman, I will sue your company into oblivion! I will use every legal and financial resource at my disposal to ensure you never distribute another frame of film in this state!”
He leaned closer, his eyes narrowed. “I demand that you suppress this film. Destroy it. Pretend it never happened. Or face the full wrath of my legal team.”
Peterson, though momentarily stunned by Arthur’s ferocity, recovered quickly. He was accustomed to dealing with volatile personalities. “Mr. Hollister, our agreements are with Mrs. Montgomery. We do not engage in the suppression of legitimate news events. Especially not one involving such prominent families and high-ranking officials.”
“Legitimate?” Arthur scoffed. “She is not well! This is a woman who, two years ago, faced public disgrace and bankruptcy! She is desperate! She is using your cameras to spread her lies!”
Peterson remained impassive. “Mr. Hollister, we have no reason to believe any of this is untrue. Furthermore, threatening legal action against a reputable news organization is a serious matter. We simply report the facts.”
Arthur’s face purpled. “Facts? I am her father! I know her condition! This wedding is a sham! I will see to it that you regret this decision!”
He spun on his heel, fuming, and stormed out of the office, leaving Peterson to rub his temples.
“He expects me to just… burn the film?” Peterson muttered to himself, shaking his head. “The Montgomerys’ wedding? In wartime? He must be mad.”
Arthur returned to his carriage, seething. Finch held the door open for him, his face impassive.
“The fool refuses to cooperate,” Arthur snarled, settling into the plush seat. “But he will regret it. He will learn the true power of the Hollister name.”
He closed his eyes, already planning his next move. He would send more wires. He would discredit the newsreel company itself. He would not let this spectacle air. Not if it meant destroying everything he had.
More Stories
+ There are no comments
Add yours