Chapter 7 - Vanessa's Desperate Gambit
The moment Claire finished speaking, the ballroom doors swung open violently.
Four armed officers from the New York Police Department, flanked by three special agents in navy-blue windbreakers bearing the bold yellow letters **FBI**, entered the room. Leading them was a tall, severe-looking woman with silver hair pulled back into a razor-sharp bun: District Attorney Eleanor Vance—no relation to Vanessa, but widely known as the most ruthless prosecutor in Manhattan.
"Nobody leave the premises," Eleanor Vance announced through a megaphone. "This room is an active crime scene."
The sight of federal badges shattered whatever fragile sanity Vanessa Vance had left.
The realization hit her like an articulated truck: she was not going to the Hamptons. She was not going to private villas in Monaco. She was going to a federal detention facility. The seventy-five million dollars wasn't a golden ticket; it was a paper trail leading straight to a ten-year mandatory minimum sentence.
Vanessa looked at Richard, who was still leaning against the stage wall, clutching his ribs, looking broken and pathetic.
A surge of blind, venomous rage consumed her.
"YOU DID THIS!" Vanessa shrieked, leaping to her feet with manic energy. She ignored the glass cutting into her satin shoes as she sprinted toward the stage, her finger stabbing toward Richard. "YOU TOLD ME IT WAS SAFE! YOU TOLD ME SHE WOULD NEVER FIND OUT!"
Richard looked up, stunned by the sudden attack from the woman he had slapped his wife to protect only fifteen minutes earlier.
"Vanessa, shut up!" Richard hissed through his teeth, struggling to stand. "Shut your mouth! There are federal agents right there!"
"I WILL NOT SHUT UP!" Vanessa screamed, reaching the base of the stage stairs. Her face was twisted into a hideous sneer of pure betrayal. "Agents! Over here! HE PLANNED IT ALL! HE GAVE ME THE OFFSHORE ROUTING NUMBERS!"
The entire ballroom watched in stunned silence as the two conspirators turned on each other like starving wolves in a trap.
"She’s lying!" Richard yelled, his voice cracking with hysteria as he stumbled forward, pointing at Vanessa. "She seduced me! She approached me with the offshore scheme! She told me she had connections in the Cayman Islands who could launder the IP rights! She forged the transfer documents!"
"I FORGED THEM?!" Vanessa shrieked, her voice reaching a pitch that made guests wince. "You gave me her private signature stamps from her desk in Greenwich! You gave me the keys to her safe! You told me that once she was locked away in the asylum, we would get married on your yacht in Capri!"
"YOU GREEDY LITTLE SLUT!" Richard roared, losing every shred of his aristocratic veneer. He lunged down the stage steps, completely forgetting the private security guards, his hands clawing toward Vanessa’s throat. "I GAVE YOU EVERYTHING! I MADE YOU HEAD OF COMMUNICATIONS! YOU WERE A NOBODY PR GIRL FROM QUEENS UNTIL I PUT YOU IN CARTIER!"
"AND YOU WERE A FRAUD LIVING OFF YOUR WIFE'S BRAINS!" Vanessa screamed back, spitting directly into his face as he reached her. "YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW HOW TO OPERATE THE LOOMS! YOU'RE AN IDIOT, RICHARD! AN INCOMPETENT, PATHETIC LITTLE BOY WHO CAN'T EVEN GET AN ERECTION WITHOUT A BLUE PILL!"
The ballroom erupted into collective gasps and nervous laughter. Several high-society matrons were openly fanning themselves, transfixed by the sheer, unbridled trashiness of the spectacle.
Richard lunged at Vanessa, his hands wrapping around her hair. Vanessa screeched, her long acrylic nails gouging into Richard’s cheek, drawing deep, bloody furrows down his face.
The two lovers tumbled onto the marble floor, rolling directly among the broken champagne glasses, clawing, biting, and screaming obscenities at each other in a frenzy of mutual destruction.
"Enough!"
The FBI agents moved in with brutal efficiency. Two agents grabbed Richard, pulling his arms behind his back with an audible pop and slamming him face-down onto the cold marble. A third agent pinned Vanessa to the ground, her face pressed against a pool of spilled champagne, while cold steel handcuffs clicked around her manicured wrists.
"Richard Sterling, you are under arrest for attempted murder, aggravated assault, grand larceny, and corporate wire fraud," Agent Miller recited, pressing his knee firmly into Richard’s spine.
"Vanessa Vance, you are under arrest for conspiracy to commit murder, grand larceny, and securities fraud," the second agent declared, hauling Vanessa to her feet by her handcuffed arms.
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Claire stood at the edge of the stage, watching the spectacle with the calm, detached expression of a scientist observing microbes destroying each other under a microscope.
***
