Chapter 4 - The Tablet SpeaksThe rustling of my tuxedo jacket broke the absolute stillness of the garden pavilion.

Reverend Thomas paused, blinking behind his thick glasses, waiting for me to produce the wedding rings. Instead, I pulled out a sleek, black remote control connected to the estate’s multi-zone audiovisual system, and pressed a single button.

High above the garden, mounted discreetly beneath the eaves of the pavilion roof, four heavy-duty outdoor speakers crackled to life.

Then, the audio began to play.

“You’re pushing too fast, Grant!” Vanessa’s crisp, venomous voice echoed across the manicured lawns, bouncing off the stone walls of Bennett House and ringing sharply in the ears of three hundred stunned guests. “Walter isn’t senile yet. If you force him to sign the trust amendment before the wedding, he’s going to smell a rat.”

In the front row, the laughter died instantly. A collective gasp sucked the air right out of the pavilion.

On stage, Vanessa’s radiant smile vanished as if struck by lightning. Her face drained of all color, turning the exact shade of bleached chalk. She whipped her head around toward the speakers, her eyes widening in sheer, unadulterated panic.

“Then handle your wife,” the audio recording continued relentlessly, broadcasting every syllable to the mayors, judges, CEOs, and socialites sitting in shock. “Lock her in the bedroom if you have to. Cry, scream, gaslight her—do whatever it takes. Just make sure she stays out of our way until I’m Mrs. Walter Bennett...”

"Turn that off!" Vanessa shrieked, her regal composure shattering completely. She lunged forward, grabbing my sleeve with claws disguised as manicured fingers. "Walter! Turn it off! It’s a deepfake! Someone hacked the sound system!"

I didn’t flinch. I slowly turned my head and looked down at her.

"Is it, Vanessa?" I asked softly, my voice carrying effortlessly through my lapel mic. "Because that sounds remarkably like your voice. And that sounds remarkably like my son-in-law complaining about his allowance."

In the front row, Grant leaped to his feet, his face purple with rage and terror. "This is an outrage!" he shouted, pointing a trembling finger at me. "The old man has lost his mind! He’s hallucinating! Everyone leave—the wedding is canceled!"

"Sit down, Grant," Daniel’s voice boomed across the lawn.

My head of security didn’t shout, but the absolute authority in his tone made two prominent corporate attorneys in the third row shrink back into their chairs. Daniel stepped into the aisle, blocking the main exit path, his hand resting casually inside his jacket where a licensed firearm rested in a shoulder holster.

"Nobody leaves the property," Daniel announced calmly. "The gates are locked. State troopers and local investigators are already on their way."

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