Chapter 10 - The Grand Gala-10
The Grand Ballroom of the Plaza Hotel in Manhattan was a spectacle of absolute wealth, power, and high society.
Crystal chandeliers hung from the soaring gilded ceilings, casting a brilliant golden light across five hundred guests dressed in black-tie attire. Billionaires, foreign diplomats, military generals, and corporate titans moved through the room, sipping vintage champagne and eating caviar.
Standing near the podium on the main stage was Senator Charles Vance.
He was a distinguished, handsome man in his early sixties, with silver-trimmed hair, a dazzling political smile, and an aura of supreme confidence. Beside him stood Beatrice, wearing an emerald gown and three million dollars worth of diamonds, smiling politely for the press cameras as though her eviction from the estate had never occurred.
"You're sure Cole handled the situation at the estate?" Senator Vance whispered to Beatrice, adjusting his bow tie as photo flashes went off in his face.
"Cole assured me the guest house was completely destroyed, Charles," Beatrice whispered back, her voice tight with nervous energy. "The girl and the boy were taken care of. The evidence is gone."
"Good," Vance muttered, a cold smile touching his lips. "Tonight, after I deliver this speech, we finalize the merger with the European defense group. By next week, the Sterling shares will be fully absorbed, and Raymond won't have a single leg to stand on."
"Where is Julian?" Beatrice asked, looking around nervously. "He hasn't answered his phone since yesterday."
"Julian is a coward who panicked," Vance dismissed coldly. "Cole has him tucked away in a safehouse in New Jersey until this blows over. Forget about him."
Suddenly, the heavy double doors at the rear of the ballroom swung wide open.
The loud laughter and chatter in the room instantly died down.
Walking into the ballroom, flanked by four tall men in immaculate suits, was me.
Beside me, looking breathtakingly gorgeous in a floor-length royal blue silk dress, her head held high with absolute dignity, was Elena. And holding my hand, wearing a tiny black tuxedo, was my four-year-old grandson, Leo.
Gasps echoed through the room.
May you like
Beatrice’s glass of champagne slipped from her fingers and shattered loudly on the marble floor.
Senator Vance froze, his political smile instantly vanishing, his eyes widening in sheer, unadulterated horror as if he were looking at ghosts.
