Chapter 6
The mahogany conference table on the forty-second floor of the Vance Corporation tower gleamed under the soft glow of recessed LED strips. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the sprawling lights of the city stretched out like a galaxy of fallen stars. Inside, the atmosphere was suffocating.
Marcus Vance sat at the head of the table, his posture relaxed, his dark suit impeccably tailored. He looked every bit the corporate savior, projecting an aura of calm competence. Beside him sat two senior board members, their expressions grim and disapproving.
The heavy double doors swung open with a soft click.
Marcus didn't even look up immediately. "Elena, darling," he began, his voice dripping with condescension. "I told you, staying away from the social circuit for a few weeks while the PR team handles the fallout from that dreadful hotel incident is the only way to save the family name. We can frame it as a mental health sabbatical—"
"Save your breath, Marcus," Elena said, her voice cutting through the quiet room like broken glass.
She walked toward the center of the table, her green velvet dress replaced by a sharp, structured charcoal pantsuit that signaled a complete transformation from socialite to corporate warrior. Behind her walked Julian, carrying a secure tablet, and Clara, holding a thick leather folder containing her professional credentials and an affidavit of events.
Marcus frowned, his gaze shifting to Julian, then lingering on Clara with a flash of genuine annoyance. "What is the meaning of this? Why is hotel staff wandering into a restricted executive session?"
"She’s not just hotel staff, Marcus," Julian said smoothly, pulling out the master chair directly opposite Marcus and sitting down without an invitation. "She’s the primary witness to your elaborate insurance fraud and extortion plot."
Marcus let out a short, dismissive laugh, looking to the other board members for support. "Are we taking instructions from private equity vultures and lost hotel workers now? Elena, your emotional state is clearly impairing your judgment."
"My judgment has never been clearer," Elena replied, stepping up to the table and placing her palms flat against the dark wood. She leaned forward, locking eyes with her fiancé. "You staged the theft of the heirloom necklace. You planted it in a public hallway. You manipulated the security feeds to route a copy of the altercation to a tabloid editor. And you used my volatile temper to manufacture a scandal that would force me to relinquish my voting rights."
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The older board member on Marcus's right, Arthur Vance—Marcus's uncle—adjusted his spectacles, frowning deeply. "Marcus, is there any truth to these allegations? This is a very serious accusation."
"Uncle Arthur, you know how Elena gets when under pressure," Marcus said, smoothing his lapels with practiced ease, though a bead of sweat appeared on his temple. "She lost a multi-million-dollar necklace in a public place. Naturally, she’s looking for someone else to blame."
