Chapter 8 - The Red Carpet Execution
As if on cue, the heavy double doors at the back of the ballroom swung wide open.
Six uniformed officers from the NYPD, led by two senior detectives in suits, marched down the center aisle. Behind them walked District Attorney Arthur Vance himself, flanked by court officers carrying legal binders.
The media went into a complete frenzy. Camera operators abandoned their assigned risers, swarming the stage steps. Flashes lit the ballroom in blinding white strobes.
“Vanessa Vance,” Detective Miller announced as he ascended the stage, producing a set of steel handcuffs from his belt. “You are under arrest for aggravated child abuse, felony assault, child endangerment, and grand larceny.”
“Get your filthy hands off me!” Vanessa shrieked, backing away, knocking over the floral arrangement beside the podium. Lilies and water spilled across the stage. “Do you know who I am? I am Mrs. Christian Vance! I run this city!”
“Not anymore,” Christian said, his voice quiet, cutting through her hysteria. “Ten minutes ago, the board of Vance Enterprises unanimously voted to strip you of all foundation titles. Furthermore, our prenuptial agreement contains a standard, ironclad morality and criminality clause. Every asset, every credit card, every piece of jewelry, and every property in your possession has been frozen. You leave this room with the clothes on your back.”
“You can't do this to me!” Vanessa lunged toward Christian, her hands clawed, aiming for his eyes.
Before she could take two steps, Marcus intercepted her with ruthless efficiency. He caught her wrists, twisted her arms behind her back in a single, fluid motion, and forced her down onto her knees on the stage.
Detective Miller stepped in, clicking the cold steel cuffs around her wrists with a sharp, final *snap*.
The ballroom erupted. Guests began shouting in disgust. Several prominent donors stood on their chairs, demanding she be taken away. Photographers were capturing every tear, every smear of mascara running down Vanessa’s face, every pathetic gasp for breath.
“Julian!” Vanessa wailed, losing all sanity. “Julian, where are you? Help me!”
District Attorney Arthur Vance stepped up to the microphone. “For the benefit of the press, Julian Croft has already been apprehended at JFK and is currently in federal custody. The state of New York will be seeking the maximum allowable sentence without the possibility of bail.”
Vanessa was hauled to her feet. Her designer gown was soaked in flower water; her hair was completely ruined. As the officers dragged her down the stage steps and up the center aisle, she looked back at Christian one last time.
Christian didn't look angry. He didn't look triumphant. He looked through her, as if she were already dead.
“I hate you!” she screamed, her voice echoing until the ballroom doors slammed shut behind her. “I hate you and that miserable, broken little brat! You hear me? She’ll never be normal! I broke her, Christian! I broke her!”
The doors sealed. The shouting faded into the corridor.
Christian Vance stood alone at the center of the stage. He turned to the crowd, adjusted his cuffs, and spoke into the microphone for the last time.
“The charity will continue,” Christian said clearly. “Every pledge tonight will be matched tenfold by my personal estate. But my duties as CEO of Vance Enterprises are suspended indefinitely. My only job… is going home to my daughter.”
May you like
He dropped the microphone, turned his back on high society, and walked away.
***
