Chapter 5 - The Humiliation at the Country Club
Two weeks later, the annual Autumn Charity Gala was held at the grand ballroom of the Plaza—an event that Celeste Vale had chaired for twelve consecutive years.
Traditionally, Celeste sat at the center table on the dais, receiving bowing courtesies from local politicians and society matrons. This year, she wasn't on the dais. In fact, she wasn't even on the guest list.
Standing across the street in the bitter autumn wind, wrapped in a cheap wool coat she had purchased at a department store clearance rack, Celeste watched the glittering arrivals through a pair of foggy binoculars.
Sleek black sedans pulled up to the red carpet one after another. Photographers' flashbulbs popped continuously, casting bright, blinding bursts of light across the pavement.
And then, the main entrance doors parted.
I stepped out of the back of my father’s bulletproof Maybach.
I wore a breathtaking, custom-tailored emerald-green evening gown that shimmered under the flashbulbs, accentuating the quiet, untouchable confidence in my posture. My silver-blonde hair was arranged in soft waves, and a diamond necklace—worth more than the entire penthouse apartment Adrian and Celeste had lost—sparkled against my collarbone.
As I walked up the red carpet, the flashbulbs intensified. Reporters shouted over one another, their voices blending into a wall of noise.
“Miss Ward! Is it true you own the majority stake in Halcyon Hotels?” “Miss Ward! Can you comment on the criminal trial against Adrian Vale?” “Miss Ward! Are you planning to acquire Vale Enterprises’ remaining assets tomorrow morning?”
I paused for a fraction of a second, turned slightly toward the cameras, and offered a cool, polite, utterly impenetrable smile.
“All corporate restructuring announcements will be made through my father’s office tomorrow morning,” I said smoothly into the microphone of a lead reporter. “Good evening.”
I turned and walked through the grand glass doors, disappearing into the warm, golden light of the ballroom.
Across the street, pressed against a cold brick wall, Celeste lowered her binoculars. Her hands were shaking so violently she nearly dropped them. Tears of pure, unadulterated rage streamed down her powdered cheeks, mingling with the cheap mascara running into her eyes.
“That... that ungrateful little street rat,” Celeste sobbed softly into the empty air, her voice breaking with hysteria. “She destroyed us... she took everything...”
A heavy hand landed firmly on her shoulder.
Celeste spun around, expecting a police officer or a security guard. Instead, she found herself face-to-face with a process server holding a thick stack of green legal notices.
May you like
“Mrs. Celeste Vale?” the man asked monotonously. “You are being served with a civil suit for defamation, tortious interference, and recovery of misappropriated charitable funds totaling four million dollars. Please sign here.”
Celeste let out a sound like a wounded animal, turned, and ran blindly down the dark, rainy sidewalk, her cheap heels clicking frantically against the pavement.
