“I was your auditor,” I corrected her coldly, turning my head to look her directly in the eyes. I didn't bother turning off the microphone. Let the press hear every word.
“You see, Ms. Sterling,” I continued, my voice steady and unforgiving. “Vance Retail requires a thorough examination of any company we bring into our family. My father wanted to know how you treated the people at the bottom. How you handled crisis. How you managed your supply chain when no one was looking.”
“Turn off the cameras!” Zara screamed from the wings, sprinting toward the AV booth. Two Vance bodyguards instantly stepped in her path, blocking her completely.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the silver thumb drive. I held it up for the cameras.
“Aura Cosmetics is not a luxury brand,” I announced to the room. “As of this morning, Aura is in default on over forty million dollars of hidden debt. More importantly, we have recovered internal emails proving that Ms. Sterling intentionally sourced highly toxic chemical fillers from an unregulated factory to cut costs. This filler has already caused severe chemical burns to the eyes of her focus group members.”
The crowd erupted. Journalists were shouting questions, typing frantically on their laptops.
“Liar!” Chloe shrieked, entirely losing her composure. She lunged for the microphone, her perfectly styled hair falling wildly across her face. “She’s a liar! Shut the feed off! This is defamation!”
“Is it?” I asked calmly. I looked at the massive digital screen behind us. “Let’s look at your definition of luxury.”
I nodded at Marcus.
The screen flickered. The giant, glowing logos disappeared.
In their place, crystal-clear, high-definition security footage filled the massive display. The timestamp in the corner showed yesterday’s date. It was dressing room A.
The entire room watched in horrified silence as the ten-foot-tall image of Chloe Sterling began screaming at a terrified girl in a gray sweater. They watched her swing her arm. The sound of the slap, synced perfectly to the PA system, cracked through the warehouse like a whip.
They watched her rip the contract. They watched her call her employee an incompetent sewer rat. They watched Zara and Leo laugh in the background.
And they saw, undeniably, that the bruised girl on the screen was the same woman currently standing in an Armani suit at the podium.
Chloe let out a choked, desperate sob. She backed away from the screen as if it were on fire. She looked out at the press, holding up her hands. “It’s taken out of context! She sabotaged my clothes! You don't understand the pressure—”
I reached across the table, picked up the thick, leather-bound Vance Retail acquisition contract she had been about to sign, and held it up.
With a sharp, violent motion, I tore the document completely in half.
I dropped the pieces onto the floor at her feet.
“Your trial is over, Chloe,” I said, my voice echoing off the warehouse walls. “You are nothing in this industry.”
The fallout was instantaneous, brutal, and broadcast live to millions of people.
In the center of the stage, Chloe dropped to her knees. She was scrambling, frantically gathering the torn pieces of the Vance contract as if she could magically tape them back together and make the nightmare disappear.
“Please,” she begged, looking up at me, mascara running down her flawless cheeks in dark, ugly streaks. “Mia, please. I’ll do anything. I’ll resign. You can have the company. Just give me the buyout. If this goes public, I’ll lose my house. I’ll go to jail.”
I looked down at her. There was no pity in my chest. Only the memory of the sheer, arrogant joy she took in making others feel small.
“It already is public, Chloe,” I said quietly, gesturing toward the back of the room.
On the secondary monitors mounted for the journalists, the live financial tickers were playing. The moment I had dropped the Vance name and mentioned chemical burns, the market reacted. Aura Cosmetics’ parent shell company was publicly traded. We watched in real time as the stock line plummeted, dropping twenty, then forty, then sixty percent in a matter of seconds. It was a complete financial bloodbath.
Panic overtook the room. Investors and VIP guests were sprinting for the exits, shouting into their phones, trying to dump their shares before the trading halt kicked in.
“You ruined me!” Chloe suddenly screamed, a guttural sound of pure rage. She abandoned the torn paper and lunged upward, her hands curled like claws aimed directly at my face.
She never made it.
Marcus moved with terrifying speed, stepping between us and catching her wrists mid-air. He twisted her arms behind her back with mechanical precision, holding the struggling supermodel in a lock that immobilized her completely without causing injury.
“Get off me! Do you know who I am?!” Chloe thrashed wildly, her silk suit wrinkling and tearing at the seams.
“You are currently trespassing on a property foreclosed by the bank, ma'am,” Marcus said flatly.
From the wings, I saw Leo trying to quietly slip out the back exit. He was carrying a bag of stolen luxury handbags from the prop room. One of my father's security men caught him by the collar and pinned him against the wall.