Julian looked miserable. His velvet tuxedo was wrinkled, his bow tie undone, and a dark purple bruise was blooming across his left jaw where my fist had connected. Richard, however, was still clinging to his arrogance. He adjusted his jacket, glaring at the crowd as if daring them to judge him.
Then, Maya and I walked back into the room.
The crowd parted for us immediately. I kept Maya tucked close to my side. She held her head high, the fear completely gone from her eyes. Chief Harrison trailed awkwardly behind us, looking like a man walking to his own execution.
“Finally,” Richard snapped as I approached. He turned to the Chief. “Harrison, arrest him. He’s holding us hostage, and his daughter is a corporate thief.”
Chief Harrison cleared his throat, looking at the floor. “Richard… I’m afraid it’s a bit more complicated than that.”
“Complicated?” Richard roared. “He assaulted my son!”
“Your son assaulted my daughter,” I interrupted, my voice cutting through the massive room like a whip. “Because she found out you were using her. You didn't want a marriage, Richard. You wanted an accomplice.”
I didn't give him time to respond. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone. With one tap, I connected to the ballroom’s state-of-the-art audiovisual system.
The lights in the grand ballroom automatically dimmed. Behind Richard and Julian, the massive projection screen—which was supposed to play a slideshow of Julian and Maya’s romantic history—silently descended from the ceiling.
“What is this?” Julian demanded, turning around to look at the blank screen.
“Your legacy,” I said.
I pressed play.
Instead of engagement photos, a massive Excel spreadsheet illuminated the ballroom. The text was large, stark, and entirely unmistakable. The header read: Cayman Offshore Routing - Foundation Asset Transfers.
The room gasped. I tapped the screen on my phone, scrolling down the ledger. Row after row of fraudulent transactions flashed across the massive screen. Dates, dummy corporations, routing numbers, and the staggering dollar amounts. Five hundred thousand dollars here. A million dollars there. All funneled out of Maya’s charity and directly into Sterling Enterprises' holding accounts.
“You’ve been stealing from disabled children, Richard,” I said, my voice echoing in the darkness. “And you were going to let my daughter take the fall for it when the federal auditors finally caught up to you.”
Richard’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. The absolute, irrefutable proof of his crimes was currently fifty feet wide, glowing above his head for every politician, banker, and business partner he had ever known to see.
“Turn it off!” Julian screamed, lunging toward me.
David, my security director, caught him by the collar of his velvet jacket and slammed him back onto the marble floor with effortless force.
“Keep your hands off him,” I warned David, though I didn't look away from Richard. “I want him pristine for the federal holding cell.”
The crowd’s reaction was instantaneous and devastating. The polite society of the city turned on the Sterlings like a pack of wolves. Whispers became shouts of outrage. Several board members of Sterling Enterprises, who were guests at the party, began frantically pulling out their phones, desperately calling their lawyers to distance themselves from the radioactive fallout happening on the screen.
“It’s fabricated,” Richard tried to say, his voice finally cracking. He looked around the room, pleading with the elite crowd. “It’s a lie! He’s trying to ruin us because the merger—”
“The FBI is already matching these routing numbers to your accounts, Richard,” I said quietly, stepping closer to him. The lie died in his throat. “Deputy Director Vance is outside the gates right now.”
As if on cue, the heavy mahogany doors of the ballroom were pushed open from the outside.
Red and blue police lights flashed through the tall windows of the estate. A team of federal agents in dark windbreakers strode into the ballroom, their badges clipped to their belts. Deputy Director Tom Vance led the pack, his eyes scanning the room before landing on the massive spreadsheet glowing on the wall.
“Well,” Tom said, adjusting his glasses as he walked up to us. “You certainly know how to throw a party, Marcus.”
“I aim to please, Tom,” I replied.
Tom turned to Richard Sterling. The billionaire looked like a deflated balloon. All his power, all his arrogance, had evaporated the moment the federal agents walked through the door.
“Richard Sterling,” Tom said, his voice entirely devoid of sympathy. “You and your son are under arrest for conspiracy to commit wire fraud, money laundering, and corporate embezzlement.”