Chapter 4 - The Poison in the Wine
The heavy mahogany doors at the back of the St. Regis ballroom slammed open.
Every single eye in the room turned away from the stage toward the entrance.
I walked in.
My midnight-blue velvet gown caught the ambient light of the crystal chandeliers. My hair was pulled back into a slick, elegant knot, exposing my throat and shoulders. I didn't wear a single piece of jewelry, yet as I walked down the center aisle between the rows of round dinner tables, the crowd parted in absolute, stunned silence.
I walked with my head high, my posture erect, holding myself with the dignity my father had taught me since childhood.
Beside me walked two uniformed officers from the Beverly Hills Police Department and a senior detective in a dark trench coat.
Brenda looked like a trapped animal. She backed away toward the VIP tables, her eyes wide with terror, her hands trembling as she tried to pull the champagne-colored dress over her shoulders as if she could hide inside it.
"Vivian..." Christopher choked out, taking a step off the stage toward me. His face was flushed crimson, sweat glistening on his forehead. "Vivian, wait! This is a massive misunderstanding! The boy has lost his mind—he hacked the screens, he forged those videos—"
I stopped three feet away from him.
I didn't slap him. I didn't scream. I simply looked at him with an indifference so cold it made him flinch.
"You look pathetic, Christopher," I said softly, my voice carrying clearly through the silent room.
I walked past him, stepping directly in front of Brenda.
Brenda fell to her knees on the polished wooden floor, weeping hysterically. "Vivian... please! I was forced! Christopher told me to do it! He told me he was going to divorce you anyway! He said you were crazy!"
"Get up," I commanded.
Brenda didn't move. She cowered on the floor, clutching the fabric of my dress around her knees.
I reached down, grabbed her left wrist in a firm, unyielding grip, and unsnapped the clasp of my late grandmother’s gold bracelet.
I pulled it free from her wrist.
I held the shimmering gold piece up to the warm light of the ballroom, wiping a smudge of Brenda's cheap perfume off the metal before sliding it onto my own wrist.
"This belonged to an honorable woman," I said, looking down at Brenda. "You aren't fit to touch it."
Detective Miller stepped forward, pulling a pair of steel handcuffs from his belt.
"Brenda Vance," the detective said loudly, his voice recorded by dozens of news cameras. "You are under arrest for attempted murder, assault with a deadly substance, and grand larceny. You have the right to remain silent."
CLICK. CLICK.
The metallic snap of the cuffs echoed through the ballroom.
"Christopher!" Brenda shrieked as the officers dragged her to her feet. "Tell them! Tell them you bought the sedatives! You gave me the money! You said we were going to clear her out of the house by next month!"
Christopher’s face turned from red to an ashen grey. He backed away, waving his hands frantically at the media cameras. "She’s lying! I have nothing to do with this woman’s crazy schemes! Security, remove her!"
"Save your breath, Mr. Albright," Detective Miller said, turning a stern gaze onto my husband. "We have a court order to search your home, your private offices, and your personal servers. I suggest you stay in town. You’re under federal investigation."
The crowd erupted into chaotic shouting. Board members of Albright Global were standing up from their seats, yelling at Christopher, demanding his immediate resignation on the spot.
Luke walked down from the stage, stopping beside me. He slipped his hand gently into mine. His palm was warm and steady.
"Are you okay, Mom?" he whispered.
May you like
I looked at Christopher, who was currently being cornered by ten screaming news reporters flashing micro-cameras in his face, his life’s work crumbling into dust in less than twenty minutes.
"I’ve never been better, sweetie," I said. "Now... let's go open the file."
