Chapter 2 - The Red Dossier
The ballroom descended into utter chaos. High-society ladies stepped back, clutching their pearl necklaces, while prominent business moguls whispered frantically into their spouses' ears.
Victoria didn't deny it. Instead, a terrifying, grotesque transformation occurred across her face. The panic vanished, melting into a cold, psychotic smirk. She wiped the remaining frosting from her jawline with the back of her manicured hand, not caring that it smeared across her skin.
"Clever boy, Julian," Victoria sneered, stepping away from the shattered cake. "It only took you three years of marriage and a ruined party to finally use that pea-sized brain of yours."
"You monster," Chloe hissed, lowering her phone but keeping her finger firmly pressed on the screen, ensuring the live stream to the cloud was running. "You stole from my grandmother? You stole from this family?"
"Stole?" Victoria scoffed, throwing her head back in a chilling laugh that sent shivers down the guests' spines. "I earned every single penny! Do you think I enjoyed pretending to love this pathetic, indecisive weakling? Do you think I enjoyed sitting across from an old hag every Sunday, listening to stories about how the Vance family conquered the shipping lanes? You people are relics. Obsolete dinosaurs sitting on a mountain of gold you don't even know how to spend!"
Evelyn didn't flinch. She stood as immobile as an oak tree in a hurricane. "The transfer won't clear, Victoria. The Vance Trust requires two-party corporate authorization. Julian’s signature alone is meaningless without mine."
Victoria tilted her head, her smile widening into something truly demonic. "Did you really think I wouldn't plan for that, Evelyn? Check your email. Check the documents your darling personal physician signed off on three days ago."
Evelyn’s composure cracked for a split second. Her hand instinctively drifted toward her chest. "Dr. Marcus?"
"Dr. Marcus has had a gambling problem in Atlantic City for the better part of a decade," Victoria purred, taking slow, deliberate steps toward the center of the room. "Five hundred thousand dollars was all it took for him to file a sworn affidavit with the probate court stating that you, Evelyn Vance, have been suffering from progressive vascular dementia. As of four o'clock this afternoon, Julian was appointed your legal conservator. And as his legal wife and designated power of attorney, his signature became mine."
Victoria walked directly up to Julian, tapping his chest with a single, crimson-painted fingernail. "By the time the sun rises, the Vance fortune will belong to a shell corporation registered in the Cook Islands. You won't even have enough money left to pay the caterers cleaning up my mess."
Julian fell to his knees beside the ruined cake, clutching his head in his hands. "No... no, no, God, what have I done? Mother, I swear I didn't know... she told me they were tax reassessment forms! She told me we were protecting the estate from the new capital gains law!"
"Get off your knees, Julian," Evelyn snapped, her voice like steel striking flint. "A Vance does not crawl. Especially not before a common thief."
Victoria rolled her eyes. "Call me whatever you want, old woman. The law is on my side. The money is gone. And if you even think about filing a civil suit, remember that the public will see a senile grandmother throwing a tantrum and assaulting her daughter-in-law at a party. Chloe’s video? Go ahead, post it! Let the world see how unhinged you are. You slapped me. You covered me in cake. I’m the victim here, and the press will eat it alive."
Victoria turned toward the heavy mahogany exit doors. "Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a private jet waiting at Logan International. Julian, my lawyers will mail the divorce papers to the local homeless shelter—because that’s where you’ll be living by the end of the month."
She took two steps toward freedom before a sharp, metallic click echoed through the grand foyer.
Victoria froze.
Standing by the entrance, blocking the exit with their broad shoulders, were two men in dark charcoal suits. Behind them stood an elderly gentleman carrying a battered leather briefcase. He wore wire-rimmed glasses and possessed the weary, sharp-eyed look of a man who had seen every trick humanity had to offer.
Evelyn walked slowly across the marble floor, her heels stepping firmly over the spilled frosting without a hint of hesitation.
"You always were too impatient, Victoria," Evelyn said softly. "You thought you were playing chess, but you couldn't even see the edges of the board."
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The elderly man with the briefcase stepped forward, unzipping the leather pouch to reveal a thick stack of manila folders bound in bright red tape.
"Good evening, Mrs. Vance," the man said, bowing his head respectfully toward Evelyn. "The trap has sprung perfectly."
