Chapter 10
The heavy oak doors of the Saint Aurelia Ballroom swung wide open, admitting a rush of cool evening air mixed with the sharp glare of television camera lights and the distant shouting of reporters from across the avenue. Sirens wailed outside, their red and blue beams sweeping in rhythmic pulses across the ornate golden ceilings and massive crystal chandeliers, casting long, dramatic shadows over the silent, stunned guests.
Marcus Vance slid the final document back into his scuffed brown leather briefcase and snapped the brass latches shut with a definitive, echoing click. He turned to Caroline, who stood tall and unyielding in her oversized trench coat and faded hospital dress, her bare feet planted firmly on the blood-and-rose-strewn marble.
"The federal prosecutor's car is waiting at the private loading dock, Miss Mercer," Marcus said quietly, offering her a respectful nod. "The media outside is already calling it the corporate execution of the decade."
Caroline did not move immediately. Her exhausted, tear-filled eyes swept across the length of the magnificent ballroom—past the cowering guests, past her weeping, ruined sister trapped by federal marshals, past her defeated father slumped in his chair, and finally toward Richard Sinclair, who was already being escorted out the side exit by his own legal detail.
"Let them talk, Detective," Caroline whispered, a dark, brilliant resolve burning deep within her gaze. "This is only chapter one."
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With slow, deliberate grace, Caroline turned her back on the altar and began walking toward the grand entrance, her bare soles clicking rhythmically against the marble floor as she stepped out of the golden light and into the flashing cameras of the night.
The music never returned. The ballroom doors swung shut behind her with a heavy, final thud, plunging the remaining ruins of the Mercer dynasty into absolute darkness.
