Chapter 4
On the crisp, high-definition monitor, the St. Jude Grand Ballroom looked serene and pristine. The white floral arrangements stood tall and immaculate, and sunlight poured through the towering stained-glass windows, casting colorful geometric patterns across the polished marble floor. In the bottom right corner of the frame, six-year-old Lily could be seen sitting quietly on the floor, stacking her wooden blocks into a modest little tower while wearing her white tutu and denim jacket. A few feet away, the velvet-lined gift table stood draped in heavy white damask cloth, holding a velvet display box containing the disputed heirloom brooch.
The timestamp advanced to 4:18 PM. The room was largely empty of guests, save for a few caterers scurrying in the background. Then, the side service door clicked open, and Julian entered the frame alone. He was adjusting his black tuxedo cuffs, looking around the room with a furtive, anxious expression that completely contradicted his later claims of innocence and outrage. Julian walked briskly toward the gift table, his eyes darting toward the entryway to ensure no one was watching from the main corridor.
In the control room, the temperature seemed to drop ten degrees. Julian’s face turned the color of ash as he stared at the glowing monitor, his mouth opening slightly in silent horror. On the screen, Julian’s hand reached out—not to admire the brooch, but to snatch the velvet box with practiced speed. He opened the lid, slipped the sparkling diamond piece into his interior tuxedo pocket, and casually tossed the empty velvet box underneath a nearby velvet-skirted display pedestal, precisely where Clara and Lily had been standing later.
“That’s… that’s a deep fake,” Julian stammered, leaping to his feet so violently his metal stool crashed backward against the cinderblock wall. His voice cracked with panic. “Modern AI can generate video files in seconds! This is a setup! Clara engineered this whole thing to ruin my wedding day!”
Victoria remained seated, her hands clenched tightly in her lap. Her eyes were fixed on the screen, watching her newly minted husband commit an act of petty theft that exposed the rot at the core of their high-society union. The heartbroken expression on her face was agonizing to witness. She did not scream, nor did she cry hysterically; she simply looked as though her internal organs had been neatly excised from her body, leaving an empty shell draped in expensive white lace and imported tulle.
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Arthur Vance did not even look at Julian. The older man turned his head slowly, his piercing gray eyes locking onto his son-in-law with a cold, terrifying intensity. “Julian,” Arthur said, his voice terrifyingly calm. “Are you telling me that the multi-million-dollar surveillance system I personally donated to this hotel is generating artificial intelligence deep fakes in real time?”
Julian swallowed hard, sweat beading instantly across his upper lip. He looked toward Victoria, his expression shifting from frantic denial to desperate pleading. “Vicky, you know me. You know how much I love you. It was a joke! A bachelor party prank gone wrong! I was going to give it back during the toast! It was just a stupid joke!”
