Chapter 4 - The Workbench Behind the House
Dad opened the garage voluntarily.
Officer Daniel still obtained written consent and photographed every area before touching anything.
Richard’s workshop occupied the rear wall.
Blue metal cabinets.
A drill press.
A small bench grinder.
Boxes of bolts, washers, and repair hardware.
Dad restored antique furniture and repaired shelving for the library after retirement. He used steel pieces for brackets and supports.
A tray near the grinder contained four cut bolt sections.
They matched the general size and shape of the fragment from the cannon.
Dad looked at them.
“I cut those for a cabinet hinge last month.”
“How many?” Daniel asked.
“Six.”
“Where are the other two?”
“I used one. The other should be in the tray.”
Only four remained after the repair.
One missing piece could be inside the cannon.
The final piece remained unaccounted for.
Dad’s workshop camera stored motion clips for security.
The system showed Emily entering the garage the Thursday before the wedding.
She remained twelve minutes.
She opened the hardware drawer.
Used the bench grinder.
Placed something inside a white handkerchief.
The same handkerchief seen in Noah’s bridal suite footage.
Dad closed his eyes.
“She told us she was looking for picture wire.”
The video proved she had access.
It also proved Richard had not prepared the metal for her.
The blue paint came from the cabinet where the bolts were stored.
Emily likely removed the pieces, filed them, and carried them to the wedding.
Police seized the grinder tray and camera system.
Mom stood near the garage door.
“She planned it here while we were inside?”
“Yes,” I said.
Susan looked toward Dad.
“I let her stay that night.”
“You did not know.”
“I knew Lena had challenged the loan.”
“That does not mean you expected this.”
“I kept saying Emily was only frightened.”
She was frightened.
Fear had not made her harmless.
The second missing metal piece became important.
If Emily prepared two, where was the other?
Police searched all wedding cannons recovered from the venue.
Six had been discarded before officers became involved.
The waste contractor had already collected the bags.
Investigators located the truck and separated wedding waste under warrant.
Four tubes were recovered intact.
None contained metal.
One had been crushed.
The final tube was missing.
Venue footage showed Emily carrying two gold cannons from the bridal suite.
She placed one in the guest basket.
She kept the other beneath the head table.
The cannon used against me came from beneath the table.
The second modified cannon may have remained hidden there.
Noah reviewed footage from later that evening.
After I left for the hospital, Emily returned to the dance floor and ordered the music to resume.
Twenty minutes later, she walked beneath the head table, removed something wrapped in white linen, and handed it to Natalie.
Natalie carried it through the kitchen exit.
Police confronted her.
She denied knowing the bundle contained a cannon.
She said Emily ordered her to destroy wedding supplies that might make the accident look worse.
“Did you throw it away?” Officer Daniel asked.
“No.”
“Where is it?”
Natalie began crying.
“I put it in my car.”
Her car had been searched only for financial records.
The spare tire compartment contained a crushed gold tube wrapped in linen.
Forensic technicians opened it.
Inside remained a strip of adhesive.
No metal piece.
The tube had been modified, then emptied before use.
Why prepare a second weapon?
Emily’s messages offered a possibility.
She wrote to Natalie at 4:19 p.m.
Use the first only if she speaks before the toast.
At 6:02:
She is still quiet. I will handle it during confetti.
The first cannon may have been intended for an earlier moment.
Emily chose the later public blast because I kept my promise not to expose the loan.
She did not injure me because I caused a scene.
She injured me because she believed I might.
The planning was broader than one impulsive act.
The prosecutor added attempted aggravated assault relating to the second device, though the final charging decision remained pending.
Emily’s attorney argued that messages referred to harmless confetti effects and that the steel fragment entered accidentally.
The video of her inserting an object made that difficult.
Her internet searches made it worse.
The second cannon made preparation undeniable.
At the hospital, my doctor scheduled surgery to repair tissue damaged near the outer cornea.
The prognosis improved slightly.
Complete blindness appeared unlikely.
Permanent distortion remained possible.
I signed the consent forms with my right eye open and my left protected.
Mom sat beside me.
Dad went to arrange food.
Susan twisted a tissue between her fingers.
“When you were children, Emily always believed we loved you more.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Did you make her feel that?”
Mom looked toward the floor.
“You were easier.”
The word carried years.
I earned high grades.
I followed rules.
I managed money.
Emily acted quickly, argued loudly, and needed rescue.
My parents praised my stability and responded to her crises.
I became responsible.
She became urgent.
Both roles hardened.
“When Grandma chose you as trustee,” Mom continued, “Emily saw it as proof.”
“Grandma offered her shared responsibility. Emily refused the training.”
“She said the tests were insulting.”
“They were required for both of us.”
“You passed.”
“She did not attend.”
Mom nodded.
“I kept telling her you would help if anything happened.”
“I did.”
“That made it worse.”
Emily did not want help.
She wanted authority without conditions.
The wedding loan was the largest version of an older pattern.
I asked Mom why she signed the family support page.
“Emily said Caleb’s parents wanted proof that we approved of the wedding expenses.”
“Did you read it?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“She was crying.”
Emotion had become a document verification system inside our family.
Emily cried.
Mom signed.
Emily panicked.
Dad paid.
Emily blamed.
I fixed.
The cycle felt like love because it repeated predictably.
The surgery lasted two hours.
When I woke, Noah sat in the hospital waiting area with Dad.
He had found another piece of footage.
The official wedding photographer left a camera running during family portraits. Audio captured Emily and Susan speaking behind a curtain before the reception.
Mom’s voice said:
Lena will go to the bank Tuesday unless you tell her the truth.
Emily answered:
Then she cannot be able to go.
Susan whispered:
What does that mean?
Emily replied:
It means you need to stop asking questions.
Mom heard the threat.
She did not know the method.
May you like
She also did not warn me.
Continue to the next part: Lena learns Susan heard Emily’s threat before the reception and must decide whether her mother’s silence was fear, denial, or complicity.
