Chapter 16 - The Broadcast of Truth
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"He’s completely unhinged, Officer!" Arthur shouted down to the state troopers on the terrace, pointing a trembling, theatrical finger at Evan while standing next to a weeping Vanessa. "He faked a trip to London, dressed up like a vagrant in the bushes, and now he and that rogue housekeeper are trying to murder his own fiancée and his best friend! Check the study—he has weapons everywhere!"
Down on the marble patio, Attorney General Vance stepped forward beside the lead state trooper captain, frowning as he looked up at the balcony where Grace Miller also stepped into the sunlight, her uniform sleeve stained dark red with blood from her gunshot wound.
"Evan," the Attorney General called up across the quiet lawn, "the troopers have the perimeter secured. Come down the exterior stairs slowly so we can sort this out."
"I don't need to come down yet, General Vance," Evan called back, his deep, steady voice carrying clearly across the sunlit terrace without a megaphone. "Because every guest on that terrace came here today for Vanessa’s Pediatric Foundation brunch—and before the state police put handcuffs on anyone, I think all fifty of you deserve to see what Vanessa Sterling and Arthur Pendelton have been doing to my children behind closed doors."
Vanessa’s fake sobs caught in her throat.
"Don't listen to him!" Vanessa screeched, reaching sideways to snatch the black remote from Evan’s hand.
Evan stepped smoothly out of her reach and pressed the center button on the remote.
Down on the terrace, behind the white-linen buffet tables, the two massive sixteen-foot outdoor LED screens—installed that morning to play promotional videos of Vanessa’s charity work—flickered to life in vivid, high-definition color, while the terrace’s twelve surround-sound speakers hummed on at maximum volume.
First came Evan’s button-camera recordings from the past eleven days.
Every billionaire donor, society reporter, and police officer on the lawn watched in frozen horror as Vanessa appeared on the giant screen inside the conservatory—ripping up seven-year-old Sophie’s crayon drawing of her dead mother, forcing the weeping little girl onto her knees on the cold marble floor, and whispering into three-year-old Caleb’s ear with a twisted smile:
"If you cry or tell your father a single word when he comes home, little boy, Evan will pack your bags and send you away forever. Your daddy hates noisy children."
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Gasps of pure revulsion echoed across the patio. Several women in the crowd covered their mouths in shock, while the society photographers immediately spun their telephoto lenses upward toward Vanessa’s ashen face on the balcony.
Before Arthur could bolt back inside the study doors, Grace stepped in front of the threshold and locked the French doors from the outside, trapping Arthur and Vanessa on the balcony in full view of the crowd as the second video file cued up on the giant screens.
