Chapter 12
The ballroom emptied rapidly as police officers escorted the traumatized, whispering guests out to take statements. The string quartet instruments lay abandoned in the corner, mute witnesses to the evening’s total catastrophe.
Caroline stood by the head table, the tension slowly draining from her battered frame. The adrenaline that had sustained her through the grand entrance was beginning to fade, replaced by a profound, bone-deep exhaustion. She swayed slightly on her bare, dirt-smudged feet.
Elias stepped closer, his hand coming up to gently catch her elbow, offering a steady, reliable anchor. "You did it," he murmured quietly, his voice devoid of its usual professional coldness. "It's over."
"It's not over yet," Caroline replied, her voice raspy. "It's only just begun."
Before Elias could answer, Detective Miller, the senior lead investigator on the federal detail, walked over, holding a clipboard and a heavy wool blanket. He draped the blanket over Caroline's shoulders with a sympathetic nod.
"Ms. Vance. Or should I say, the survivor," Miller said, his tone respectful. "Your statement will be required down at the precinct, but given your condition, we can arrange for a medical team to evaluate you first. We also found the secondary conspirator—the accountant who helped funnel the corporate funds to pay the hitmen. He’s already singing."
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"Good," Caroline said, pulling the wool blanket tighter around her hospital gown. "I want every single asset frozen before midnight. Isabella tried to strip me of everything, including my life. Now, I want every cent of the Vance Holdings estate audited back to the bedrock."
"Already moving on it," Miller confirmed, tapping his clipboard. "The federal warrants were signed an hour ago."
