Chapter 6
The harsh reality of the situation washed over the Grandview Ballroom, washing away the last vestiges of celebratory cheer. Guests began quietly retreating toward the exits, eager to distance themselves from an impending scandal that would undoubtedly dominate the morning financial papers and social media feeds alike. The string quartet had long since packed their instruments, leaving behind an oppressive, heavy quiet punctuated only by Elena’s shallow breathing and Thomas’s strained breathing against the marble pillar.
Julian Vance knelt beside his sister once more, ignoring the chaos unfolding a few yards away. He gently brushed a stray lock of hair from her damp forehead, his eyes shining with unshed tears of guilt. “I'm so sorry, El,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “I should have listened to you weeks ago when you said something was wrong with the Sterling accounts. I was too blindfolded by the prestige of this alliance.”
“It’s not your fault, Julian,” Elena replied softly, wincing as a sharp wave of pain shot up her leg. “Just help me up. We need to secure the physical copies of the audit before they’re wiped from the office server.”
Arthur Pendelton placed a reassuring hand on Julian’s shoulder. “Go ahead with her, Julian. I’ll stay here and ensure Marcus handles the authorities properly. The police were already notified the moment I saw Thomas signal the person by the pillar.”
True to Arthur’s words, the heavy double doors at the entrance of the ballroom pushed open with a sharp click, admitting two uniformed city police officers accompanied by a senior detective. The flashing red and blue lights of patrol cars outside painted rhythmic patterns across the crystal chandeliers, casting an eerie, surreal glow over the ruined floral arrangements and the discarded wedding gifts.
Detective Sarah Ortiz strode into the center of the room, her trench coat swirling around her ankles. She took in the bizarre tableau: the fallen woman in the beige dress, the furious security guard pinning the groom against a pillar, and the stunned bride standing alone in a mountain of white tulle.
“All right, break it up,” Detective Ortiz commanded, flashing her badge. “Marcus, let him go. The rest of you, step back five paces.”
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Marcus released Thomas with a final, contemptuous shove that sent the groom stumbling onto his knees. Thomas straightened his jacket with trembling hands, glaring up at the detective with a facade of defiant entitlement. “You are making a massive mistake,” Thomas spat. “I am the victim of a hostile takeover attempt by disgruntled business associates.”
Detective Ortiz raised an eyebrow, walking slowly toward him. “Right. And people usually break their own business partners' ankles with gold chairs during cocktail hour, Mr. Sterling. Save it for the precinct.”
