Chapter 3 - The Falling Masks
Victoria tried frantically to regain her composure, smoothing down her soaked, ruined gown, though her hands were trembling violently. "You... you're a nobody! A washed-up ghost from a dead family! My husband funds the entire charity board! You can't intimidate me with some recorded phone call! Security, why are you just standing there?!"
Eleanor reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a sleek, obsidian tablet. With a swift swipe of her finger, she wirelessly connected to the venue's master display system. Instantly, the massive high-definition media screen above the main orchestra stage flickered and lit up.
The room breathed in a collective shock.
Confidential bank ledgers, illegal offshore account transfers, forged bankruptcy papers, and wiretap transcripts swept across the giant screen in vivid, unmistakable detail.
"Ten years ago, you and your husband drove my family out of our own empire through fraudulent contracts, blackmail, and bribed judges," Eleanor revealed, her voice ringing out with unwavering strength. "You thought you buried us. You thought we starved in the streets. But while you were spending stolen wealth on grand galas, champagne, and fake jewelry, I spent every single day of the last decade quietly buying back every mortgage, every debt note, and every circulating share of your family's precious conglomerate."
Victoria’s husband, standing near the front row of the crowd, dropped his crystal glass. It shattered on the marble floor, but he didn't even look down. Sweat poured profusely down his face as he stared at the financial numbers on the wall—numbers that signaled his absolute ruin.
"As of eight o'clock tonight," Eleanor declared, looking around at the frozen circle of elites, "I hold sixty-one percent of Vance Enterprises. I own your homes, your yachts, and the very clothes on your backs. And my first official order of business..."
May you like
She turned her icy gaze back onto Victoria.
"...is throwing you out into the street."
