Daniel looked mortified. My daughter Evelyn, his mother, whispered sharply, “Mom, sit down.”
I did not.
I reached into my purse and handed a small remote to the wedding coordinator. “Please,” I said. “Play the video.”
Vanessa laughed lightly, trying to charm the room. “Grandma Margaret, this really isn’t the time.”
“It’s exactly the time,” I replied.
A large screen behind the altar flickered to life.
The first clip showed Vanessa under a different name—Lauren Hayes—at a fundraiser in Chicago, engaged to a real estate heir. The date stamp was three years earlier. Then another clip: Natalie Brooks, Miami, arm-in-arm with a hedge fund manager. Then another. And another.
Gasps filled the cathedral.
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