Chapter 2 - The Digital Execution**
Salvatore stood up slowly, holding Ruby securely against his chest with one arm while his other hand accepted the small memory card. He didn't look at Lucinda; instead, he walked over to the main DJ and AV console embedded in the mahogany wall, pulled a small card reader from his pocket, and slotted the SD card directly into the master terminal.
With a few swift taps of the keyboard, the massive, high-definition projector screen descending from the ceiling flickered to life. The glittering birthday slideshow dissolved instantly, replaced by the crisp, high-resolution footage of the east wing private hallway and the grand ballroom corners.
The ballroom guests gasped collectively as the video began to play.
There was Lucinda, three days prior, walking into Ruby’s private recovery nursery while Salvatore was away at an emergency board meeting. The audio picked up instantly through the hyper-sensitive directional microphones.
*“Take that stupid plastic thing off,”* Lucinda snapped on screen, forcefully ripping the medical brace off the child’s healing leg while Ruby cried out in agony. “You’re milking your father’s sympathy, you little parasite.”
The footage skipped forward to yesterday morning. Lucinda again. Tearing the brace away. Mocking the child’s tears. Pushing her gently against the upholstered bench when Ruby tried to reach for her crutches.
Then, one recording captured Lucinda’s voice crystal clear, echoing across the massive ballroom speakers for all two hundred elites to hear:
*“If she keeps limping, Salvatore keeps feeling sorry for her. Once we’re married, that brat is going straight to a boarding school upstate, and I won't have to look at her pathetic face ever again.”*
Ruby buried her face deeper against her father’s shoulder, her small frame shaking as the terrible memories relived themselves on the giant screen above.
Lucinda suddenly snapped out of her paralyzed shock. She lunged forward, clawing desperately toward the AV console, screaming, “Turn it off! That’s edited! Those are deepfake files! Turn it off right now!”
Before her manicured fingers could hit the keyboard, Salvatore reached out with one hand, grabbing her wrist in an iron grip that stopped her dead in her tracks.
“So you knew she was injured,” Salvatore said, his voice dropping into a quiet, lethal register that terrified everyone in the room.
Silence hung heavy in the air, broken only by the soft hum of the projector fan.
“You just hated that my daughter received my attention,” Salvatore continued, tightening his grip until Lucinda winced in pain.
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Lucinda’s face drained entirely of its expensive spray tan, leaving her looking chalk-white, trembling like a leaf in a hurricane as she realized her entire high-society facade had crumbled to ash in thirty seconds.
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