"Security can't stop a digital broadcast once it's triggered," she smiled, a sad, broken expression. "And lawyers can't un-ring a bell in the court of public opinion. By the time he finishes his speech, Vance Corp stock will plummet, and he will be investigated by the SEC for the Shaw acquisition. He will lose everything."
She looked at me, her eyes softening for a brief, terrifying second. "You're a collateral damage, Chloe. I'm sorry about the dress. But you are a Vance. You were born into blood money. You have to pay the toll."
Before I could respond, the office door violently burst open.
Marcus stood in the doorway, his chest heaving, his face dark with a rage I had never seen from him. His right hand was resting on the grip of the weapon concealed beneath his jacket.
"Step away from her," Marcus commanded, his voice echoing like thunder in the small room.
Ms. Harrington didn't flinch. She simply raised her hands, stepping back from the desk. "I wasn't touching her. We were just having a parent-teacher conference."
Marcus ignored her. He crossed the room in two strides, grabbed my arm gently but firmly, and pulled me behind him. "Are you okay?" he asked, not taking his eyes off the teacher.
"I'm fine," I whispered, clutching the fabric of his jacket.
"Evelyn Shaw," Marcus said, his voice deadly quiet. "If you ever come within fifty feet of this girl again, you will not have to worry about lawyers. Do you understand me?"
Ms. Harrington smiled, an empty, hollow gesture. "I don't need to come near her again. My work is done. I'll see you on Friday, Marcus. Make sure Arthur wears his best suit."
Marcus didn't waste another word. He turned, keeping himself between me and her, and guided me out of the office. I grabbed my clarinet case from the chair as we passed, my hands shaking so badly I nearly dropped it.
We didn't speak as we hurried down the hallway and back out the rear exit. The cold air hit my face, shocking my system back into reality. We climbed into the SUV, and Marcus locked the doors instantly.
He gripped the steering wheel, exhaling a sharp breath. "I shouldn't have let you go in there. That was a mistake."
"Marcus," I said, my voice breathless. "She's not after a settlement. She's going to ambush him at the gala on Friday. She has files. She's going to project them during his speech."
Marcus looked at me through the rearview mirror, his eyes narrowing. "What files?"
"I don't know," I said, thinking back to the corkboard. "Fake documents, probably. Things claiming my father fabricated the embezzlement report to steal Shaw Enterprises. If she blasts that to the press while he's on stage, it'll be a disaster. The optics will destroy him. It'll look exactly like she wants—a ruthless billionaire silencing a grieving widow."
Marcus pulled a secure radio from his belt. "I'm calling the team. We're locking down the AV room at the auditorium. We'll strip the network, confiscate every flash drive, and ensure she can't broadcast a single frame."
"No," I said suddenly.
Marcus paused, his thumb hovering over the transmit button. "No?"
"If you shut her down, she'll just go to the press directly," I said, my mind working faster than it ever had before. "She'll say Arthur Vance used his power to silence her again. It'll validate everything she's claiming."
"So what do you suggest, Chloe? We let her ruin him?"
I looked down at the black clarinet case in my lap, tracing the silver letters of my fake name. C. Miller. I had spent three years hiding from the reality of who I was. I had let fear dictate my life, and when the moment of confrontation came in the parking lot, I had stood frozen while someone tore my clothes and humiliated me.
But I wasn't just a teenager holding a clarinet anymore. I was a Vance. And it was time I started acting like one.
"We don't silence her," I said, looking up to meet Marcus's eyes in the mirror. "We let her play her hand. But we change the cards."
CHAPTER 4
Friday night arrived with the kind of electric tension that precedes a severe thunderstorm.
The regional band competition gala was the social event of the season for the school district. The massive high school auditorium was packed with parents, local politicians, and reporters from three different local news stations. The air was thick with the smell of expensive perfume, nervous sweat, and the faint metallic scent of the heavy stage rigging overhead.