My dad laughed and told me to walk myself down the aisle because I was marrying a nobody. Mom sat beside him in the
The heavy oak doors didn’t just open; they were shoved apart with a force that made the stained glass rattle. The agents moved with terrifying efficiency, their heavy boots echoing against the antique hardwood. My father, Richard Whitmore, stumbled backward, knocking over a massive floral arrangement as if the crushed white lilies could somehow protect…