Chapter 4 - The Bride’s AwakeningBy noon, the shockwaves had reached Cassandra.
She and Michael hadn’t even made it to brunch. Instead, they had driven straight to their newly acquired, heavily mortgaged townhouse—a property whose closing costs were entirely dependent on the wire transfer Ellen and I had promised to send that very morning.
My phone rang. Caller ID displayed Cassandra Whitaker.
I let it ring out to voicemail.
It rang again immediately. And a third time. On the fourth call, I swiped to answer, holding the phone a few inches from my ear.
“Robert Whitaker! What kind of sick, demented game are you playing?” Cassandra’s voice shrieked through the speaker, high-pitched and vibrating with panic. “Our mortgage lender just called! They said the wire transfer from your account was blocked! Do you have any idea what kind of embarrassment this is? We have movers coming tomorrow!”
“You have bigger problems than movers, Cassandra,” I replied, my tone flat and glacial.
“What are you talking about? Michael is sitting here crying because his boss—some middle-management drone—told him he’s been demoted to the basement! You humiliated him! You humiliated us!”
“Did you enjoy the wedding, Cassandra?” I asked softly.
A sudden, sharp silence fell on the other end of the line.
“What?” she stammered, the bravado suddenly draining from her voice.
“Did you enjoy making our wedding look ‘cheap and tacky’? Did you enjoy playing the socialite queen while treating my wife like trash?”
The line was dead quiet. You could hear the faint sound of Michael in the background, yelling frantic questions at his wife.
“You... you heard about that?” Cassandra whispered, her voice trembling. “Look, Robert, it was a stressful day! The lighting was wrong, and your wife walked right into our designated photo zone looking like—well, she didn't fit the vibe! It was a tiny mistake!”
“A mistake is spilling wine on a tablecloth,” I said, my voice hardening into steel. “What you did was assault. What your husband did was betray his own mother to appease his spoiled wife.”
“We’re family!” she screamed, panic creeping back in. “Families forgive each other! You can’t just cut us off! We’ll sue you for defamation! We’ll—we’ll keep you from ever seeing your grandchildren!”
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“You don’t have children yet, Cassandra,” I reminded her coldly. “And at the rate your marriage is going under financial ruin, you won't have a husband by Friday.”
I hung up and blocked her number.
