Chapter 11
The progress bar on Clara’s phone hit 100%, and the folder containing the digital evidence illuminated the dark space beneath the wedding cake table with a cold, blue light. Footsteps crunched on the sugar pearls scattered across the floor as David drew closer, his polished Italian leather shoes stopping just inches from the edge of Clara’s wedding dress.
"Come out now, Clara, and maybe I'll let your father live to see tomorrow's sunrise," David’s voice dripped with sickening venom from just the other side of the white lace skirt.
Clara didn't hesitate. With her finger hovering over the screen of her phone, she tapped the play button on the highest-priority audio file in the folder, turning her phone’s media volume up to its absolute maximum.
Instantly, David’s own voice blasted out from the phone's tiny speakers, echoing crystal clear through the cavernous Starlight Ballroom:
"...Just make sure Julian takes the fall for the embezzlement, Marcus. Once Arthur Vance’s company goes bankrupt, we liquidate the assets through our shell corporation, and the entire hotel portfolio belongs to us. Julian is too stupid to realize he's just the patsy..."
David froze dead in his tracks. The color vanished from his face as he stared down at the white lace skirt hiding Clara from view.
"What... what did you just play?" David stammered, his polished composure shattering in a fraction of a second. He dropped to his knees, yanking the edge of the dress back to expose Clara crouching behind the table.
Clara didn't cower. She looked up at him, her eyes burning with a cold, unforgiving fury that matched his own. She held her phone up, the audio still looping the damning confession on maximum volume.
"That was your voice, David," Clara said, her voice steady and clear. "Recorded six months ago during your private phone call in the corporate penthouse. Every word, every transaction, every calculated lie—it's all backed up to the cloud right now."
Across the room, Marcus pushed himself up from the floor, wiping blood from his lip, his eyes wide with shock and heartbreak. He looked at his older brother with utter disgust. "You recorded that? You planned to frame Julian and ruin our family name just for a real estate portfolio?"
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David’s face twisted into an ugly, desperate mask. He lunged forward, trying to snatch the phone from Clara’s hand, but Arthur Vance—summoning a final, furious burst of strength—crawled across the floor and slammed his heavy oak walking cane directly across David’s shins.
David let out a sharp cry of pain, tumbling hard onto the wooden floor just as the main entrance doors burst open for a second time, flooding the ballroom with the flashing red and blue lights of a dozen police cruisers.
