Part 7: The Envelope’s Contents
Dominic’s hands shook violently as he reached out and took the heavy manila envelope from my outstretched hand.
His expensive diamond wristwatch caught the dim cathedral light as his fingers fumbled with the red wax seal.
“You shouldn’t have done this, Eleanor,” he choked out, his voice a pathetic whisper meant only for my ears.
“We can settle this privately… name your price… anything you want—”
“Open the envelope, Dominic,” I repeated, my tone dropping to a sharp, clinical chill.
“Your new family deserves to know exactly what kind of man they are welcoming into their dynastic bloodline.”
With trembling fingers, Dominic ripped open the flap and pulled out the top document.
It was the certified forensic audit report detailing the illicit wire transfers from the primary corporate accounts into the Apex Holdings shell company registered under Brooke’s family address.
The bold red stamps at the top of the page—FEDERAL INDICTMENT PENDING—glowed under the ambient altar lights.
Dominic gasped, dropping the papers as if they were burning coals.
They fluttered down onto the white rose petals scattered across the marble floor.
Brooke’s father lunged forward, scooping up the papers from the floor with a furious expression.
His eyes scanned the financial figures, his face turning from red to a terrifying, deathly pale white.
“Embezzlement?” Mr. Kensington roared, staring directly at Dominic with pure venom.
“You used corporate slush funds to pay for our daughter’s wedding venue deposit and our new estate acquisition?
You’re facing federal felony charges for corporate fraud?!”
The cathedral erupted into total chaos.
Guests stood up in their pews, shouting and recording the spectacle on their smartphones.
Olivia screamed something unintelligible, trying to push past the security guards to retrieve the documents, but she was blocked by her own husband.
Brooke stood frozen at the altar, her veil slipping slightly from her elaborate updo as she stared at Dominic in utter disbelief.
“Dominic… tell me it’s not true,” Brooke whispered, her voice cracking as tears welled up in her eyes.
“Tell me this bitch is lying!”
Dominic couldn’t speak.
He looked like a man standing on the edge of a collapsing cliff, staring down into an infinite abyss.
And yet, the worst part—the true devastation—was still resting quietly at the bottom of the envelope.
I stepped closer to Brooke, my expression softening into a mask of polite, chilling pity.
“Oh, the embezzlement is just the prologue, Brooke,” I said clearly, ensuring the microphones picked up every single syllable.
“You might want to check page twelve of the dossier.
Specifically, the medical records regarding your fiancé’s permanent fertility status.”
Brooke blinked, her tear-filled eyes darting down to the scattered papers on the floor.
She bent down, scooped up the medical section, and unfolded the official clinic letterhead.
There, printed in bold, unarguable black-and-white text, was the surgical report detailing Dominic’s elective vasectomy performed fourteen months prior—complete with his signature, his medical insurance ID, and a notarized physician’s attestation.
Beneath it lay the private DNA lab analysis confirming zero genetic relation to Brooke’s unborn child.
The cathedral went dead silent once more, a heavy, suffocating quiet that felt heavier than the screaming a moment before.
Brooke slowly raised her head, looking at Dominic with a look of absolute, soul-crushing horror.
“A vasectomy?” she whispered, her voice trembling with murderous rage.
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“Fourteen months ago?
Then whose baby am I carrying, Dominic?!”
