Chapter 9 - The Social Guillotine
Julian turned slowly to face the two hundred elite guests who were still standing frozen around the shattered party.
These were the most powerful people in California—judges, district attorneys, senators, media moguls. Many of them had smartphones in their hands, the red recording dots glowing ominously in the evening shadows.
"To all of you," Julian spoke, his voice carrying the full, authoritative weight of a man who commanded billions. "You came here tonight to celebrate the Vance family. You came here to worship our power, our wealth, our perfection."
He paused, gesturing disdainfully toward the shivering woman clinging to the pool tiles, looking like a drowned, deranged street beggar in ruined silk.
"Post the videos," Julian ordered coldly. "Send them to TMZ. Send them to the New York Times. Leak every single second of what she did to my daughter. Let the world see what Eleanor Vance truly is."
A prominent media tycoon at the front nodded grimly, already tapping furiously on his phone.
Eleanor heard this and began to wail in genuine agony. To a woman whose entire soul was built on social standing, vanity, and pristine reputation, this was a torture far worse than drowning. "No! Julian, please! Don't let them film me like this! Have mercy! I'm your mother!"
"You stopped being my mother the moment you laid hands on my blood," Julian spat.
The heavy iron gates of the estate swung open with a screech of hydraulics.
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Four black-and-white Los Angeles Police Department cruisers, their red and blue lights painting the trees in flashes of violent neon, roared up the circular driveway, tires screeching against the gravel.
***
