Chapter 7: The Final Audit
The chaos inside the Grandview Estate ballroom was cinematic in its scale. High-society guests stampeded toward the service exits, their designer gowns tearing and expensive tuxedos disheveled as federal marshals and Raymond’s private security detail systematically checked IDs, confiscated encrypted phones, and cataloged every individual present.
Amidst the swirling storm of flashbulbs, crying socialites, and shouting security guards, Maya stood up slowly from the marble floor, aided gently by one of her father’s loyal attachés. She brushed off her dark blue maternity dress, her posture straight, her head held high.
Raymond walked over to her, his terrifying demeanor instantly dissolving into an ocean of fierce, protective paternal warmth. He removed his heavy black overcoat, draping it gently around Maya’s shoulders to keep her warm against the drafty chill of the ballroom.
"Are you alright, sweetheart?" Raymond asked softly, his deep voice carrying a tender tremor that only she could hear.
"I'm fine, Dad," Maya replied, leaning into his embrace for a brief moment before looking across the room. "The baby is safe. But we’re not finished yet."
Jason Vance was now pinned against the sweetheart table by two federal agents, the heavy, cold click of steel handcuffs echoing loudly as they locked around his wrists. He thrashed and screamed, his pristine white tuxedo jacket wrinkling into a chaotic mess.
"You can't do this! I'm a citizen! I demand a lawyer!" Jason shrieked, his eyes wide with unadulterated panic as he stared at Maya. "Maya, please! Tell them to stop! We built that company together! We were supposed to share it!"
Maya walked slowly toward him, her footsteps unhurried and deliberate. She stopped a few feet away, looking down at the broken, pathetic man who had tried to discard her like trash.
"We did build it together, Jason," Maya said, her voice calm, clear, and utterly devastating. "Which is why my father and I own ninety-eight percent of the voting shares through an anonymous parent trust. You were never the genius, Jason. You were just the employee I hired to run the front end. And now, you're fired."
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Jason stopped thrashing. The blood drained entirely from his face as the crushing realization hit him. He hadn't just been outsmarted; he had been methodically, mathematically trapped from day one.
The federal agents hoisted him up by his arms, dragging him backward across the ruined ballroom floor. His Italian leather shoes scraped uselessly against the polished marble, leaving dark scuff marks as he was hauled out through the grand mahogany doors into the flashing red and blue lights of the Manhattan night.
