Chapter 9
The air in the Saint Aurelia Ballroom grew suffocating. The grand romance of the billionaire wedding had completely dissolved into a high-stakes corporate bloodbath, witnessed by the most powerful people in the country who now realized they were trapped in a sinking ship.
Caroline crossed her arms over her dirty beige trench coat, watching Richard Sinclair with an expression of sharp, calculated interest. The burn scars along her jawline seemed to tighten as she sized up the man who had evidently planned to betray her sister just as thoroughly as her sister had betrayed her.
"So the vultures were already circling before I even walked through the door," Caroline noted aloud, her voice ringing with icy calm. "You didn't just fund Juliette's wedding dress, Richard. You funded the legal team that helped her bury my medical records in the county archives."
Richard turned his gaze toward Caroline, his expression cool, calculating, and entirely devoid of fear. He offered a slight, mocking nod of professional respect. "Impressive survival skills, Miss Mercer. Truly. Most people would have stayed dead after a third-degree thermal trauma and three years of pharmaceutical isolation. But walking into a room full of federal prosecutors and hostile billionaires with nothing but a hospital gown and a grudge? That takes a special kind of ambition."
"Ambition runs in the family, Richard," Caroline replied, stepping forward until only a few feet of polished marble separated them. "The only difference is, I didn't need to marry my way into your portfolio to take it apart."
"Richard! You bastard!" Juliette shrieked, lunging forward with her fingernails extended toward her groom, her bridal veil completely forgotten. "You used me! You used my family's scandal to gut our holdings!"
Before Juliette could reach him, two federal marshals in dark tactical gear stepped smoothly out from the shadows of the grand foyer, their hands resting firmly on their utility belts as they intercepted the frantic bride, gently but firmly pushing her back onto the altar steps.
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"Keep your distance, ma'am," the lead marshal commanded, his voice flat and authoritative. "You are both under federal detention pending transfer to the federal penitentiary holding facility."
Douglas collapsed back into his gilded chair, his chest heaving, his silver-gray hair soaked in sweat as he stared blankly at the floor where his empire, his family, and his legacy lay shattered into a million glittering pieces, scattered like the fallen white roses at his feet.
