My Own Cousin Sabotaged My Wheelchair At My Wedding — He Didn’t Notice The Catering Staff
Part 1
Hundred-thousand-dollar floral arrangements suffocated the grand cathedral.
Their heavy sweet perfume did absolutely nothing to mask the thick tension rolling off the five hundred guests.
Private society columns had covered the preparations for months.
Unmarked federal vans monitored the perimeter from down the estate’s sprawling driveway.
I sat at the altar.
My broad shoulders were encased in a flawless, custom-tailored tuxedo.
My jaw locked in a posture of absolute authority.
Yet from the waist down, my legs lay completely motionless.
Six months ago, a car bomb outside a discreet cafe had shattered my spine.
The blast had taken my mobility, but it had not taken my mind.
It certainly had not loosened my iron grip on the eastern seaboard’s underworld.
Today was supposed to be my ultimate victory.
A marriage to Megan was a union that would bridge the bloody history of my family with the sterile political influence of hers.
It was a strategic alliance forged in backroom deals.
I remained perfectly still.
My dark eyes scanned the pews.
Greg, my loyal second-in-command, finally approached the altar.
He leaned down.
“Boss.”
“We just got a ping from her security detail.”
“She’s gone.”
“Megan boarded a private jet twenty minutes ago.”
My expression did not change.
“Alone?”
Greg swallowed hard.
His throat bobbed above his tight collar.
“No, boss.”
“She’s with your cousin.”
“Tyler.”
“They cleared out the offshore accounts linked to the merger before they took off.”
Humiliation was a luxury I could not afford.
The betrayal sliced deep into my gut like a serrated knife.
I refused to bleed in front of the sharks circling in the pews.
Tyler was my own blood.
He had orchestrated this massive public spectacle to castrate me in front of the commission.
“Very well.”
My gravelly baritone betrayed none of the volcanic rage threatening to crack my ribs.
“Announce that the bride has fallen ill.”
“Clear the room.”
“We reconvene at the safe house.”
I reached for the sleek black joystick mounted on the armrest of my wheelchair.
My thumb pressed the primary ignition.
I intended to pivot the heavy machine and roll down the aisle with whatever dignity a paralyzed man could muster.
I frowned.
My fingers pressed the manual override sequence.
Nothing happened.
The heavy reinforced motors beneath my seat were completely dead.
I pushed the backup battery switch.
Dead.
A chilling realization washed over me.
He had intentionally marooned me at the altar.
My state-of-the-art mobility device was now a useless, heavy anchor.
“Greg.”
My knuckles turned white as I gripped the armrests.
“The chair is dead.”
“I can’t move.”
To physically carry me out of the room like a helpless child would destroy the last remaining shred of my authority.
The illusion of my absolute power was shattering piece by piece under the vaulted ceilings.
I was trapped.
I was waiting for the wolves to strike.
They spoke freely around her.
They dropped their guard.
Now, looking down the agonizing stretch of the aisle, Brenda saw me sitting frozen.
She saw the panicked tugging of my subordinate.
I wasn’t just stuck.
I was being lined up for a public execution.
The sound was microscopic.
“Hey, what do you think you’re doing?”
“Get back to the kitchens.”
Brenda ignored him entirely.
Her wide frame placed itself directly between me and the third row.
She looked down at me.
She extended a thick, calloused hand toward my paralyzed form.
“Shall we dance, Frank?”
I stared at her, violently thrown off balance.
“Excuse me.”
“Your chair.”
Her voice dropped to a low whisper meant only for me.
“I saw the manual release levers by the rear axle earlier.”
“It’s heavy, but I’ve got the weight to push it.”
“Let me move you.”
Before I could object, Brenda stepped behind the massive wheelchair.
“Play something faster.”
She pushed.
She didn’t just push me toward the exit like an invalid.
She understood pride.
She swung me around, creating a beautiful spinning dance.
I instantly caught on to the brilliant charade.
I straightened my spine and lifted my chin.
I masked my terrifying vulnerability with a cold smile aimed directly at my rivals.
“Frank.”
“There is a puddle of battery acid under where you were parked.”
“The man in the third row has a suppressed weapon.”
My eyes widened infinitesimally.
I shifted my gaze just as Brenda planted her boots and jerked the chair hard to the left.
Two suppressed rounds shattered the stained glass exactly where my head had been a fraction of a second before.
“Hold on!”
She rammed my wheelchair through the heavy side doors of the sacristy.
We burst into the dimly lit hallway just as a hail of bullets chewed through the oak behind us.
We were alive.
The war for my empire had just begun.
My survival now depended entirely on a woman society had spent her whole life telling to be invisible.
