“Thomas, it’s Bette Wilson. I need you to halt all preparations for tomorrow’s asset transfer. Yes, all 120 million. I have a new plan.” By the time I returned to the reception, a strange calm had settled over me.
For the first time since waking up this morning, I knew exactly what I needed to do. The reception was in full swing when I returned to the ballroom. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over elegantly set tables, and a live band played softly in the background.
In any other circumstance, I would have been proud of how beautiful everything looked. After all, I had paid for all of it. I maintained a composed demeanor as I made my way through the crowd, accepting condolences from old friends who had noticed my new hairstyle and thought it must be related to a health issue.
“Are you in treatment, dear?” one elderly aunt whispered sympathetically. “You’re so brave to come today.” I simply smiled and moved on. “Let them think what they wanted for now. The truth would come out soon enough.”
At the edge of the dance floor, I spotted Thomas, my financial adviser, who had arrived at my urgent request. He made his way to me, concern evident on his face. “Babette, are you all right? Your call worried me.”
“I’m fine, Thomas. Better than fine, actually. I’ve never seen things more clearly.” I explained the situation to him in hush tones. His eyes widened as I showed him Natalie’s note, which I had kept in my purse.
“This is outrageous,” he murmured. “Have you spoken to the authorities?” “Not yet. First, I need to handle things here. Is everything in place as I requested?”
He nodded. “The transfer has been halted. The alternative arrangements are ready whenever you give the word.” “Perfect. Thank you, Thomas.”
As he left, I noticed a young waiter watching our interaction. He approached cautiously. “Mrs. Wilson, I’m sorry to intrude, but I thought you should know something.”
The young man whose name tag read Alex had been serving Natalie and her bridal party earlier. He had overheard them laughing about my baldness with Natalie bragging about how she had put the old bag in her place and how by this time tomorrow we’ll have her money and can start getting rid of all her other pathetic attachments.
“I have three grandmothers, ma’am,” Alex said earnestly. “and I just couldn’t stand by and let someone treat their family like that.” I thanked him for his honesty and slipped him my business card.
“If you’re ever looking for a job with better company, call me.” The time for the toasts was approaching. Traditionally, the mother of the groom speaks after the best man and maid of honor.
I watched as Jackson’s best friend delivered a heartfelt speech about their lifelong friendship and how happy he was that Jackson had found the one. The maid of honor followed with saccharine remarks about how Natalie had always dreamed of finding a man like Jackson and how they were # relationship goals.
Throughout these speeches, I noticed Natalie repeatedly glancing at me, a smug smile playing on her lips. She thought she had won. She believed that I was too cowed, too concerned about appearances to make a scene.
She was about to learn how wrong she was. When it was my turn, I approached the microphone with deliberate steps. The room quieted as I adjusted the mic, looking out at the sea of faces, familiar and strange.
I spotted Jackson beaming with the naive happiness of a man who believed he was beginning his happily ever after. Beside him, Natalie’s expression was one of barely concealed contempt as she looked at me.
“For those who don’t know me, I am Babette Wilson, Jackson’s mother.” I began my voice steady. “First, I want to thank everyone for coming to celebrate this significant day.”
I paused, gathering my strength for what came next. “Many of you have noticed my different appearance today and have been kind enough to express concern. I’d like to address that now.” With steady hands, I reached up and removed the wig, revealing my completely bald head to the shocked gasps of the guests.
A glass shattered somewhere in the crowd. Jackson’s face drained of color. “This is not a fashion choice or a health issue,” I continued calmly. “This morning, I woke up like this after being drugged last night. I also found this note on my pillow.”
I held up Natalie’s note, my hands no longer shaking. “It reads, ‘Now you have the look that suits you, you ridiculous old woman. Try stealing attention at my wedding now. This is what happens to people who don’t know their place.’” The room had gone completely silent.