My Publicist Mother Called My 8-Year-Old Daughter Useless At My Sister's $400,000 Malibu Wedding — Until Lily Stole The DJ Mic And Broadcasted The Studio Audio
The recording didn’t stop. Just as the last, haunting note of “Ocean Eyes” faded, the audio seamlessly transitioned. The studio ambient noise was replaced by a different, muffled background hum, like a private office meeting.
Then, Eleanor’s voice, crisp and businesslike, filled the air. “Julian, let’s be pragmatic here. The ‘budget diversion’ issue, as you call it, is easily contained. A few carefully worded press releases, a strategic leak about a rival studio’s woes… it disappears.”
A new wave of gasps rippled through the guests. Julian Wright, Chloe’s husband, visibly stiffened.
“But in exchange,” Eleanor continued, her voice devoid of its earlier warmth, “Chloe needs that lead role. The ‘Starlight Destiny’ franchise. It’s a multi-picture deal, at least $80 million in production. This will solidify her, and by extension, my agency’s standing.”
Julian’s voice, tight with what sounded like exasperation, came through the speakers next. “Eleanor, we’re talking about a $1.2 million misallocation here. A criminal offense, potentially. And you want to trade a cover-up for a casting choice?”
“It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement,” Eleanor stated, her voice chillingly calm. “You secure your reputation, I secure Chloe’s career. And your studio gets a guaranteed hit with a fresh face. Everyone wins.”
The implications were devastating. Not only had Eleanor facilitated a fraud regarding Chloe’s talent, but she was actively complicit in a far more serious corporate crime. Julian, standing beside Chloe, looked as if he might crumble. His face was pale, his eyes wide with a mixture of betrayal and panic.
Deidre Shaw, the senior talent agent, who had been sitting at Table 1 with a stoic expression, now gripped her wine glass so tightly her knuckles whitened. Her gaze locked onto Eleanor, then Julian, a look of profound disgust on her face.
Chloe began to sob, soft, desperate sounds swallowed by the loudspeakers. She clung to Julian’s arm, but he shook her off.
Eleanor, still on the stage, her face a ghastly shade, finally moved. She lunged for the microphone stand, pulling it down, but the audio feed continued, unaffected by her futile gesture. Lily’s connection was directly to the master AV board.
“This is outrageous!” Eleanor shrieked, her voice hoarse, raw, and completely unamplified, a stark contrast to the calm, controlled recording booming around them. “This is a fabrication! A malicious attack!”
But no one was listening to her. The guests were looking at each other, then at Julian, then at Chloe, their faces etched with horror. The illusion of the perfect Malibu wedding, of the perfect Hollywood family, shattered into a million pieces under the weight of the damning, unfiltered ambition.
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