Chapter 5 - Unmasked
Julian’s face drained of color. "Turn it off! Turn it off right now!" he screamed at the technicians, but Arthur’s team had taken total remote control of the venue's broadcast grid.
The screen shifted.
A high-definition scan of an official document appeared. It was the medical voucher request for Hazel Vance, signed by the chief pediatric cardiologist of Mount Sinai Hospital, marked in bright red ink: REJECTED BY FINANCIAL CONTROLLER XIMENA VANCE.
Right below it, the screen displayed the reason Ximena had entered into the portal: Exceeds quarterly allowance for non-essential care.
The room went dead silent. You could hear a pin drop across the three-thousand-square-foot ballroom.
Then, a second document flashed beside it.
It was a bank transaction log from the exact same date and time—signed personally by Julian Vance—authorizing a $180,000 wire transfer for a private luxury yacht in Saint-Tropez under the name Victoria Hayes.
Side-by-side photos appeared: on the left, a photo of my three-year-old daughter Hazel in an ICU hospital bed, connected to heart monitors; on the right, a photo of Julian and Victoria drinking expensive champagne on a yacht in France.
Murmurs exploded across the room like wildfire.
"Is that... is that his daughter?" an investor whispered in horror. "He denied forty-five thousand dollars for his dying child while spending nearly two hundred grand on his mistress?" "Look at the ledger dates! They match exactly!"
Victoria’s face turned bright red as guests turned to stare at her with disgust. "Julian, do something!" she shrieked, backing away from the crowd.
Julian turned on me, his eyes bloodshot with rage. He lunged forward, grabbing my shoulders. "You crazy bitch! You altered those files! You're trying to ruin me!"
Before he could lay another finger on me, two of Arthur's security officers pinned Julian’s arms behind his back, forcing him down to one knee right in the center of the ballroom.
I stepped forward, pulling an official legal document from my portfolio, and looked down at my husband.
"I didn't alter anything, Julian," I said, my voice broadcasting clearly through the microphone clipped to my collar. "I am an actuary. I simply audited the numbers you tried to hide. And while you were busy spending my father’s money on Victoria, you forgot to read the fine print of our prenuptial agreement."
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Julian gasped, struggling against the guards. "What fine print?"
"My father built the original holding company that formed Vance Logistics," I said coldly. "Clause 14B states that if the managing CEO engages in gross moral turpitude, financial fraud, or criminal negligence resulting in the harm of a direct heir, all voting stock immediately reverts to the Thorne Trust. Which means as of five minutes ago, Julian... you own zero percent of this company. I own it all."
