Superstar, Michael Jackson, murdered his father Joe Jackson on the eve of Christmas, 1979. What drove him to commit such a passionate, heinous crime? Money? Greed? Fame? Th Jacksons and their reputation are sent into a spiral.
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Michael stood in front of an antique cheval mirror. His reflection revealed his slightly tilted bowtie, so he adjusted it. He checked for any other imperfection in his flashy formal wear. The bowtie was connected to a shiny, silver sequined shirt. He wore a simple pair of black dress pants. Soon after, he was interrupted by his brother Tito. Tito popped his head through the wooden door of Michael's bedroom.
Michael turned his neck. "What do you want?"
"We have to go." Tito stressed. Michael told him that he was coming. In Michael's open room and with Tito's open opportunity, he noticed Michael's leather bag. It sat on his dresser. He nodded towards it, "What's in that bag?"
"Stuff. Mind your business."
"Be in the limo in like fifteen minutes. We're already halfway late." His brother finished before ending the brief conversation with a slam of the door.
The event that the Jacksons were halfway late to was a banquet that they were hosting in honor of Joseph. Most of Motown, dying groups of the late 60s and early to mid 70s, and the hottest celebrities of the moment were invited. There was a red carpet at the entrance of the building where all of the celebrities would be photographed and give overdue condolences as they entered the banquet hall. The event started at four and would end before eight.
Michael had asked Quincy to come but he declined, saying that he wasn't taking a flight from Detroit so that he could be buttered up by the rest of the Jackson boys. Besides, he never even liked Joseph that much. His words.
The long limousine that the Jackson boys rode in pulled up on the side of the curb. Michael's sisters and his mother rode in a separate limousine. Before they could even step out of the vehicle, the flashes of cameras tried to blind them through the tinted windows. Michael had ordered that photographers be present, but no press. He hired a security team to ensure the press didn't get past the door.
When Michael was out of the car, he put his hand in front of his face to block the overload of cameras. He eased through a crowd of photographers and stray fans, ignoring the questions and I love you's that were shouted at him. His brothers were right behind him.
Other celebrities walked on the red carpet, getting photos taken and socializing, preparing to enter the hall. Michael didn't greet any of them and instead decided to search for his date. His brothers stayed behind and fellowshipped.
He lightly jogged through the rounded door of the banquet hall. A short velvet rope that separated the entrance from the main floor was unlocked for him as soon as his face was recognized. He shoved his hands into his pockets and his eyes jumped over at least one hundred guests, trying to spot his date.
The ceiling was high and arched in an antique manner. A wide staircase separated two floors; the base appeared like it had melted away from the structure in an oval shape. The rest of the stairs were regular and its rails had designs.
