Chapter 8 - The St. Regis Showdown
Z
The Versailles Ballroom at the St. Regis was draped in white silk, crystal chandeliers, and lavish arrangements of orchids that cost more than my first car.
Fifty of Manhattan’s elite—donors, socialites, and real estate moguls—sat around circular tables draped in linen, sipping expensive champagne. At the head table sat Corrine Vance, wearing a breathtaking emerald velvet gown, holding court like a displaced queen. Beside her sat Kevin, looking pale, miserable, and utterly crushed in a charcoal suit.
"It was just so devastating," Corrine was saying smoothly to the couple across from her, her voice dripping with fake tragedy. "The poor girl... Jessica... she simply broke down under the pressure. We tried to help her, of course. Kevin was an angel. But when someone exhibits such... unhinged behavior, one must prioritize safety."
"It’s just dreadful, Corrine," a woman in diamonds cooed, patting Corrine’s hand. "You were so gracious to handle it with such dignity."
"We do what we must for family," Corrine sighed, lifting her glass of Dom Pérignon. "To resilience—"
BOOM.
The heavy double doors of the Versailles Ballroom slammed open against the gilded walls.
The room went instantly silent. Fifty heads turned toward the entrance.
I walked into the ballroom first. I wasn't wearing jeans anymore. Natalie had picked me up from the diner, driven me to a high-end boutique, and helped me pick out a sleek, floor-length backless gown in crimson red. My hair was swept up, my makeup immaculate, my posture straight as an arrow.
Beside me walked Julian Vance, carrying a leather legal folio.
Behind us walked Rosalie.
Corrine’s champagne glass froze halfway to her mouth. Kevin gasped so loudly it echoed off the high ceilings, leaping to his feet so fast he knocked his chair backward onto the hardwood floor.
"Jessica?!" Kevin choked out.
"Good evening, Corrine," I said, my voice carrying effortlessly across the silent room. "I hope we aren't interrupting the slander portion of the evening."
"What is the meaning of this?!" Corrine shrieked, standing up, her hands trembling so violently her champagne spilled over her emerald dress. "Security! Remove these people immediately!"
Two hotel security guards stepped forward, but Julian casually pulled an official legal badge and court notice from his jacket.
"Touch us, and you’re interfering with the legal service of a Supreme Court injunction," Julian announced in a loud, commanding voice that halted the security guards dead in their tracks. "I am Julian Vance, legal counsel representing Jessica Miller and Rosalie Vance."
The guests gasped. Whisper networks immediately ignited. Julian Vance? The exiled son? Rosalie?
"Corrine Vance," Julian continued, walking straight down the center aisle of the ballroom toward the head table, pulling a thick stack of legal documents from his folder. "You are hereby formally served with a civil summons for grand conversion, breach of fiduciary duty, and corporate fraud. Furthermore, an emergency court order has officially frozen all accounts associated with Corrine Vance Enterprises, effective thirty minutes ago."
"You... you can't do this!" Corrine screamed, her face contorting into a hideous mask of fury. "You pathetic, vengeful little bastard! You’ve been waiting ten years for this!"
"No, Corrine," Julian said calmly, dropping the heavy stack of legal papers directly into her plate of caviar. "You did this to yourself when you stole four million dollars from your own daughter's trust fund."
The ballroom exploded into chaos.
Socialites stood up from their tables, gasping in horror. Several people pulled out their phones to record.
"She stole from her daughter?!"
"Four million dollars?!"
"Is that true?!"
"It’s a lie!" Corrine screeched, turning to her guests, her eyes wild and bloodshot. "It’s a lie! She’s lying! Rosalie, tell them it’s a lie!"
Rosalie stepped forward out of the shadows, looking her mother directly in the eye.
"It’s not a lie, Mother," Rosalie said, her voice clear, strong, and completely devoid of fear. "I saw the statements. You spent my inheritance. You used Jessica’s money. And you lied to all of us."
"Rosalie... you ungrateful little brat!" Corrine yelled, lunging across the table toward her daughter, but Kevin caught her arm, looking utterly terrified.
"Mom, stop! Please, stop!" Kevin begged, tears running down his face. "Everyone is looking! Stop!"
I walked slowly up to the head table, stopping right in front of Kevin.
He couldn't look me in the eye. He hung his head, trembling, stripped of every shred of dignity he had left.
"Your seventy thousand dollars didn't buy a wedding, Kevin," I whispered so only he could hear. "It bought you a front-row seat to your family’s destruction."
I turned to Corrine, who was glaring at me with pure, unadulterated hatred.
"Enjoy the dinner, Corrine," I said with a sweet, terrible smile. "I hear the prison food isn't quite as good as the St. Regis."
May you like
I turned on my crimson heels, took Julian’s offered arm, and walked back down the center of the ballroom. Rosalie walked beside us, her head held high.
Behind us, the shouts, crying, and shutter clicks of dozens of smartphone cameras filled the air as Corrine’s high-society world crashed down around her ears.
