Chapter 6 - The Digital Execution
The massive projection screen cast a harsh, fluorescent blue glow across the opulent ballroom, illuminating the horrified faces of the city’s elite. At the center of the display, clear as day, was a scanned copy of Thomas Vance’s bank transfer records, alongside a notarized statement detailing the systematic embezzlement of the Blackwood Valley trust funds.
Someone in the front row dropped a crystal champagne flute. It shattered against the hardwood floor with a sharp, echoing pop.
Stephanie stood frozen in the doorway, her arms pinned to her sides, her fingers digging into the expensive lace of her ruined gown. She watched in paralyzed horror as the names of her father’s co-conspirators—prominent local judges, city councilmen, and wealthy developers—began scrolling across the bottom of the screen in bold red text.
“Turn that off!” Stephanie shrieked, taking a stumbling step toward the stage. Her voice lacked all its previous authority; it was the desperate squeak of a drowning animal. “Someone shut that projector down right now! It’s a hack! It’s fake!”
No one moved. The jazz quartet had stopped playing entirely, the saxophonist standing motionless with his instrument hanging by its strap around his neck.
A tall man in a charcoal suit—one of Thomas Vance’s primary corporate partners—slowly stood up from the head table. His face was pale, his eyes darting frantically toward the ballroom exits. Without a word, he grabbed his leather briefcase from the chair, turned on his heel, and sprinted toward the service corridor, knocking over a tray of hors d’oeuvres in his wake.
That single motion broke the spell. Within seconds, the entire room erupted into chaos. Wealthy socialites scrambled over velvet chairs, designer handbags were dropped and trampled, and expensive coats were abandoned as the city’s upper crust fled the scene of a financial implosion.
Stephanie stood alone in the center of the churning human tide. People brushed past her without a glance, some even shoving her aside as they raced for the elevators. The heavy tulle of her wedding dress caught the heel of a fleeing guest, tearing a jagged hole in the fabric from waist to hem.
She didn't cry. She couldn't. Her mind had simply stopped processing the sensory input.
“Miss Vance?” a calm, steady voice cut through the shouting.
Stephanie blinked hard, forcing her gaze upward. Standing near the entrance was a young woman in a sharp navy-blue blazer, holding a thick Manila folder under one arm. She wore no makeup, and her dark hair was pulled back into a simple, severe ponytail.
“Who are you?” Stephanie whispered, her lips feeling stiff and numb.
“My name is Detective Miller,” the woman said, flashing a silver badge for a fraction of a second before tucking it back into her jacket pocket. “I’m with the state prosecutor’s office. We have a court order to freeze all personal assets linked to the Vance family estate, effective immediately.”
Stephanie let out a hollow, humorless laugh. She looked down at her own wrists, half-expecting another pair of steel cuffs to materialize out of the air.
“My personal assets?” Stephanie echoed bitterly. “I don't have anything. My father handled everything. I just signed the checks.”
“Including the check for the diamond ring you’re wearing,” Detective Miller noted smoothly, her eyes dropping to Stephanie’s left hand. “Which was purchased using funds embezzled from Martha Vance’s medical trust in 2018.”
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Stephanie’s hand jerked away as if the ring had suddenly caught fire. She began clawing frantically at the platinum band, twisting and pulling until the skin of her knuckle turned raw and purple.
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