Thursday evening arrived, crisp and cool. The Grand Ballroom at the Lakeside Country Club was packed with local business leaders, city council members, and the cream of regional society.
Linda Carter was in her element. She wore an emerald green gown, floating around the room with a delicate lace handkerchief, wiping away fake tears as group after group of wealthy donors comforted her.
Daniel stood near the bar, looking miserable in a tux that seemed too big for him. He kept checking his phone, likely trying to see if my lawyers had filed the divorce paperwork yet. (They had, three hours prior).
I walked through the double doors of the ballroom wearing a fitted navy maternity dress that clearly highlighted my seven-month bump. My hair was styled, my chin was held high, and Victoria walked right beside me carrying a sleek black tablet.
The chatter in the ballroom died down instantly.
Whispers erupted like dry leaves in a gust of wind.
"Is that her?" "How dare she show her face after what she did to Linda?" "Look at her... acting like nothing happened!"
Linda spotted me from across the room. Her sorrow instantly morphed into cold fury. She marched over, flanked by two of her high-society board members.
"Emma!" Linda raised her voice so the nearby tables could hear. "Have you no shame? You throw my son out of his own home, you deny me access to my future grandchild, and now you crash my charity event?"
Daniel rushed over, grabbing his mother's arm. "Mom, stop—"
"No, Daniel!" Linda declared loudly, gesturing to the crowd. "Everyone here knows what she did! She humiliated our family because she couldn't accept a simple reprimand! She is an ungrateful, entitled woman who took advantage of my son's generosity!"
I stood still, letting her finish. I waited until every eye in the room was fixed on us.
"Are you finished, Linda?" I asked softly.
"Get out before I have security throw you out!" she sneered.
"You like using security, don't you?" I replied. "Victoria, if you please."
Victoria stepped up to the main AV booth at the side of the ballroom—where the venue manager, who happened to be an old college friend of mine, immediately plugged Victoria’s device into the overhead projector screens that lined the walls.
"What is this?" Linda demanded, her voice wavering slightly for the first time. "What are you doing?"
"Just clearing up some misinformation," I said.
Suddenly, the ambient music cut out. The three large projector screens above the stage flickered to life.
The crystal-clear, high-definition video from the Oakridge pavilion began playing on a massive loop with full, unedited audio pumping through the ballroom's surround-sound speakers.
