Clara: Read it yourself, Arthur. Every single page details your corporate embezzlement.
Arthur: I am not reading anything from an emotional daughter and a bankrupt rancher!
Richard: He came at me.
The older man stands up, speaking with a defiant, angry expression as Clara rushes over to steady his arm.
Clara: Dad, let me look at your lip. Did he hit you with anything else?
Richard: Just his fists and his empty threats, honey. I'm standing upright.
Arthur: This is absurd. I'm leaving before you people turn this into a circus act.
Clara: You aren't taking one step outside these doors until the state troopers arrive.
Arthur: State troopers? You think local law enforcement takes orders from a cattle rancher?
Clara: They take orders from the federal marshals currently securing your downtown offices.
Arthur hesitated, his eyes darting toward the grand exit where two uniformed guards stood frozen in place.
Arthur: You're bluffing to save face in front of your high-society friends.
Clara: Look at your phone, Arthur. See who is calling you from the federal holding facility.
The man in the tuxedo, still shaken from the slap, watches as the older man walks past him toward a small table while a low ambient drone plays in the background. Richard ignored the younger man completely, stepping firmly across the polished tiles toward the mahogany side table where his briefcase rested. Arthur rubbed his stinging cheek again, his chest heaving with suppressed fury as the realization of his trap collapsing set in. The wedding guests whispered frantically among themselves, pulling out their smartphones to check the breaking financial news alerts flashing across local media apps. Clara kept herself positioned squarely between Arthur and her father, guarding the precious trust documents with absolute vigilance. The heavy silence in the ballroom grew thicker by the second, broken only by the rhythmic ringing of a phone on the mahogany table.