Chapter 8 - THE RECKONING
Before Thatcher could compose himself, Marcus Hayes stepped forward, trying to maintain control of the room. "Security! This is an exclusive private gala. Remove this woman immediately—she is mentally unstable and poses a security threat!"
Two private security guards moved toward me, but Julian stepped forward, his cold voice stopping them in their tracks.
"Touch her, and I will personally see that your security firm loses its operating license before midnight," Julian warned. "I am Julian Vance, senior legal counsel for Vance & Sterling. Stand down."
The guards immediately backed away, recognizing the name on the building itself.
Thatcher stepped into the circle, sweat glistening on his forehead, his face pale as paper. "Victoria, you are delirious! You’re having an episode! Let me take you home before you humiliate yourself further—"
"An episode, Thatcher?" I laughed—a rich, mocking sound that resonated under the vaulted ceiling. "Like the episodes caused by the Scopolamine and Lorazepam you slipped into my tea every single morning for four months?"
A collective gasp swept through the ballroom. High-society women clutched their pearls; prominent CEOs exchanged shocked glances.
"You're insane!" Claudine shrieked, her composed facade cracking into hysteria. "She's fabricating lies to cover up her business failures! She signed over the operational rights to Bloom yesterday! She has no authority here!"
"Did she sign this?" Hannah asked calmly.
With a tap on her tablet, Hannah hijacked the ballroom's central audiovisual system. The giant LED screens flanking the stage—intended to display the annual charity video—flickered.
Suddenly, high-definition video footage filled the screens.
It was the surveillance from the St. Regis penthouse the night before. Crystal-clear audio echoed through every speaker in the ballroom: “I doubled her dosage this morning... By tomorrow night at the gala, she won't even be able to string a coherent sentence together... Once she makes an embarrassing public scene, we have security escort her out, sign the involuntary psychiatric evaluation order, and fly to Zurich by Sunday.”
The room erupted into pandemonium. Reporters who had been invited for the charity coverage immediately raised their cameras, flashes firing like strobe lights in a thunderstorm.
"Turn it off! Shut it down!" Thatcher roared, lunging toward the AV console. But Julian stepped smoothly into his path, gripping Thatcher’s lapels and throwing him backward onto the floor with effortless disdain.
"And here," Julian announced, projecting the forensic audit on the massive screen, "is the complete financial ledger detailing the embezzlement of $6.8 million by Marcus Hayes, routed through offshore shell companies controlled by Claudine Miller and Thatcher Cross."
Marcus Hayes turned white, frantically attempting to push his way through the crowd toward the side exits.
"Going somewhere, Marcus?" a stern, thunderous voice cut through the chaos.
May you like
The crowd parted instantly.
Walking down the center aisle, leaning lightly on a silver-topped walking stick, was Eleanor Vance. Her presence command complete, terrifying deference. Flanking her were four armed federal agents from the FBI’s Financial Crimes Division and two uniformed police captains.
