Chapter 3 - The Digital Execution
The double oak doors of the ballroom swung open, and three senior members of the Sterling Foundation board stepped inside, their faces etched with confusion and rising alarm. Arthur Vance, the oldest trustee, clutched his smartphone, the screen glowing brightly in the dim ambient light of the crystal chandeliers.
"Victoria," Arthur said, his voice grave. "My phone just received a data package containing audio recordings from the downtown shelter warehouse. Is this true?"
Victoria turned sharply, her dark purple suit rustling like dry leaves in autumn. Her expression shifted in a fraction of a second from sheer panic to chilling, practiced arrogance. "Arthur, do not listen to this unverified trash. This girl is an opportunist looking to extort our family."
"It’s not trash, Mr. Vance," Julian said, his voice steadying as the shock wore off. He looked directly at his mother. "Mom, open your tablet. Show them the real financials."
"Julian, you are siding with an outsider against your own flesh and blood?" Victoria hissed, stepping into his personal space.
"I’m siding with the truth," Julian replied, refusing to back down. He turned to Chloe. "How deep does the deficit go?"
Chloe tapped the flash drive against her thumb. "The $200 you gave me was a test of my resourcefulness, Julian. You wanted to see if I could survive a week on a pauper's budget. But the real test was whether I’d notice that every single cup of noodles on this table represents twenty meals stolen from children who trusted your mother."
Victoria lunged forward, her hand raised to knock the flash drive from Chloe's fingers, but Arthur Vance stepped between them, his heavy walking cane hitting the marble floor with a sharp crack.
"Enough, Victoria," Arthur commanded. "The emergency audit committee has already been notified via the broadcast. We are freezing all foundation accounts effective immediately."
Victoria froze, her hand hovering in the air. The star brooches on her lapel caught the chandelier light, glittering coldly. "You can't freeze the accounts. The annual gala is in forty-eight hours."
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"There won't be a gala," a cold voice echoed from the doorway as the lead investigator from the state attorney general's office walked into the room.
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