Chapter 11 - The Washington Ambush
Z
The grand ballroom of the Willard InterContinental Hotel in Washington, D.C., was packed with international bankers, government regulators, and global journalists. Lydia stood at the podium, looking elegant and composed in a dark navy suit. Across the room, I watched from a quiet corner, feeling a profound sense of maternal pride as her voice carried through the speakers with absolute authority.
"Financial exploitation does not begin with a weapon," Lydia told the audience, her gaze sweeping over the crowd. "It begins with isolation. It begins when a predator identifies someone who has everything in terms of wealth, but nothing in terms of self-worth. My mother saved me by taking away my illusion of security. Today, our foundation provides the tools for real security—financial literacy, legal protection, and personal independence."
Applaud echoed through the grand hall. Senators and central bankers nodded in approval. Lydia stepped down from the stage, greeted by a flurry of handshakes and press inquiries.
As the crowd began to disperse toward the networking reception, a tall, striking woman in an ivory tailored suit stepped smoothly through the circle of diplomats, blocking Lydia’s path. Her dark hair was pulled into a flawless bun, her posture radiating calculating arrogance.
Victoria Vance.
"A truly moving speech, Miss Sterling," Victoria said, her tone dripping with polished venom. "It is fascinating how a year of humiliation can be rebranded into a lucrative public relations campaign."
Lydia paused, assessing the woman standing before her. Though they had never met in person, Lydia instantly recognized the sharp, predatory eyes that mirrored Victor Vance’s.
"You must be Victoria," Lydia replied, her voice remaining calm and steady. "I recognized the family traits. Though I hear you usually operate out of Zurich."
Victoria smiled thinly, taking a glass of sparkling water from a passing waiter's tray. "Zurich was getting quiet. And I find myself deeply interested in the sudden moral enlightenment of the Sterling family. Tell me, Lydia—do you really believe that working at a shelter and giving speeches in D.C. erases the fact that you almost handed your family's fortune to a third-rate con man?"
Several nearby journalists paused, smelling a sudden confrontation. I stepped forward from the shadows, placing myself gently at Lydia’s side.
"Victoria," I said, my voice cold enough to freeze water. "This is a public conference on financial ethics. If you wish to discuss your family’s failed investments, my office in New York is open during business hours."
Victoria turned her ice-blue eyes toward me, unbothered by my presence. "Ah, Eleanor. The legendary matriarch. You look tired. Protecting a fragile empire while babysitting a daughter who almost surrendered it must be exhausting."
Before I could speak, Lydia stepped forward, putting a hand on my arm. She didn't look offended; she looked almost amused.
"Victoria," Lydia said softly, stepping right up to her rival. "My mother didn't babysit me. She broke me down so I could build myself into someone you can't manipulate. Your father thought he could use me as a backdoor to Sterling Global. He failed, and now he spends his days in a six-by-eight cell. If you think you can use the same old family playbook on us, you're severely underestimating the woman standing in front of you."
Victoria’s thin smile twitched for a fraction of a second. "This isn't a game of crude blackmail, Lydia. Your mother is playing defense with forty-year-old tactics. While you give speeches here, my private equity group has secured the proxy votes of three of Sterling Global's largest pension fund investors. At next week's board meeting, we are proposing a compulsory restructuring that will liquidate your foundation's funding entirely."
The statement was a tactical grenade dropped right in the middle of the room.
"You're targeting the foundation?" Lydia asked, her eyes narrowing.
"I am targeting everything Eleanor built," Victoria corrected her smoothly. "Including your little vanity project. You wanted to know what the real world feels like without your mother's money? Next week, you will watch her lose her throne."
Victoria took a slow sip of her water, turned on her heel, and walked away, her high heels clicking rhythmically against the marble floor.
May you like
Lydia looked at me, the composure on her face replaced by a sudden, intense determination. "Mom... is what she said true? Can she liquidate the foundation?"
I looked at my daughter, my mind already calculating our counter-offensive. "Not while I am still breathing. We're taking the night train back to New York tonight."
