Chapter 4 - The Gala of Reckoning
The Grand Ballroom of the Plaza Hotel was bathed in shimmering gold light. Crystal chandeliers cast brilliant reflections over hundreds of high-society guests clad in tuxedos and evening gowns.
Julian Vance stood near the main stage, holding a glass of champagne, flanked by Victoria Hayes, who sparkled in a red velvet gown. Beatrice and Ximena stood nearby, laughing loudly as Julian bragged to a group of hedge fund executives about Vance Logistics' projected three-billion-dollar valuation.
"To the future of Vance Logistics!" Julian proclaimed, raising his glass. "A family built on discipline, integrity, and unwaving commitment to excellence!"
Applause rippled through the elite crowd.
Suddenly, the heavy mahogany doors at the back of the ballroom swung open.
The laughter died down as heads turned.
I stepped into the ballroom. I wore a tailored, floor-length black silk gown, my hair swept up in an elegant chignon, revealing the sharp, high angles of my face. Gone was the worn-out, tear-stained woman who had begged in hospital corridors. Beside me walked Arthur Sterling and four elite corporate security guards in dark suits.
Julian’s smile froze. His eyes widened in shock, then flicked quickly to anger.
He excused himself from the investors and marched aggressively toward me, pulling me toward a side alcove.
"What the hell are you doing here, Genevieve?" Julian hissed under his breath, grabbing my wrist tight. "I told you to stay at the house! Look at you—wearing black like somebody died! You’re embarrassing me in front of the board!"
I looked down at his hand on my wrist, then up into his arrogant eyes.
"Somebody did die, Julian," I said, my voice ice-cold and ringing clearly across the quieted alcove.
Julian scoffed, letting go of my arm. "If you're still whining about the baby, keep it at home. This is business. Ximena, get security to escort my wife out!"
Ximena stepped forward with a smug smile. "Genevieve, please leave before we have to forcibly remove you. You don't belong here."
"I belong here more than any of you," I said calmly.
Before Julian could scream at the guards, Arthur Sterling gestured to his technical team near the media booth.
The massive LED screen behind the main stage—which had been playing a slick promo video of Vance Logistics—suddenly went black.
A silence fell over the room as a loud chime echoed through the ballroom speakers.
"What is going on with the AV system?" Julian yelled, turning toward the stage in frustration. "Fix that damn screen!"
Words appeared on the 40-foot screen in bold, stark white text:
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VANCE LOGISTICS: AN ACTUARIAL AUDIT OF FRAUD AND HUMAN CRUELTY
The crowd gasped. Wall Street analysts pulled out their phones. Journalists immediately pointed their cameras at the stage.
