Chapter 7: The Call to the Venue
I was in my attorney's office within the hour.
Graham Slade had handled my affairs for twenty-two years.
He was the kind of man who never raised his voice because he never needed to.
He read the situation in about four minutes and then folded his hands on the desk.
"Tell me about the call Cassandra made to the venue."
"I don't know exactly what she said.
Michael told me she called.
He wouldn't say more."
"Do you have the witness statements?"
"Patricia Holt has agreed to provide a written statement.
Daniel Marsh saw the aftermath and heard Michael's words as they left.
He's less certain about formal involvement."
"The security footage is the anchor," Graham said.
"Everything else supports it.
The witness statements add weight, but the footage stands on its own." He looked at me steadily.
"Robert.
What outcome are you working toward?"
I had thought about this for three days.
"I want Michael to face what he did without the cushion of my money making it easy to move on.
I want Cassandra to understand that what she did to Ellen has consequences she cannot call her way out of.
And I want Ellen protected — financially, legally, and from any further contact she doesn't choose herself."
Graham nodded slowly.
"The financial restructuring is already underway based on your instructions.
The share review, the trust amendment, the lease termination on the vehicle — those are in motion." He paused.
"What I want you to think carefully about is whether you want to pursue civil action.
You have grounds.
The footage alone is substantial."
"Ellen hasn't decided."
"It should be her decision," he agreed.
"But Cassandra calling the venue concerns me.
If she's attempting to suppress or interfere with that footage in any way—"
My phone rang.
It was the estate manager.
I held up a hand to Graham and answered.
"Mr.
Whitaker.
I need to inform you of something.
A woman called this morning identifying herself as Mrs.
Cassandra Whitaker.
She requested that the security footage from the bridal corridor be deleted as part of a routine post-event data purge.
She indicated she had spoken with you and that you were in agreement."
My jaw tightened.
"She said I had agreed."
"Yes, sir."
"And?"
"I told her I would need written confirmation from you directly.
She became — insistent.
I told her the footage had already been copied per your request and that any deletion request would need to go through our legal department." A pause.
"She hung up."
I looked at Graham across the desk.
"She tried to have the footage deleted," I said.
"She told them I had agreed to it."
Graham's expression didn't change, but he reached for his notepad.
"That," he said quietly, "is a different matter entirely."
He wrote something down and underlined it twice.
"Robert, I need you to hear me clearly.
Attempting to suppress evidence — even evidence not yet part of a formal proceeding — has its own consequences.
If she made that call believing a complaint was coming, it suggests she understands the severity of what that footage shows." He set his pen down.
"It also means she's not going to stop."
My phone buzzed again.
A text from Michael.
*Cassandra wants to meet.
She wants to explain in person.
She says if you'll just sit down with her she can make you understand.
She's asking for one hour.*
I showed it to Graham.
He read it.
Looked up.
"What do you want to do?"
I thought about Ellen at the kitchen table, both hands around her coffee cup, watching me.
I thought about the frozen frame at the end of the footage.
"Tell her yes," I said.
"Set a time.
But not at our home."
May you like
Graham raised an eyebrow.
"If she wants to explain herself," I said, "she can do it in front of a witness."
