Chapter 9 - CHECKMATE UNDER CHANDELIERS
A notification pinged on Richard’s smartwatch. He glanced down, a triumphant smirk flashing across his face. He thought the money was gone. He thought he had won.
“Done,” Nathaniel said, handing the iPad back. But instead of stepping down from the podium, Nathaniel tapped the microphone again. “But before we celebrate the future, we need to clean up the past. I’ve always believed in transparency in business. And in life.”
He signaled the AV technician at the back of the room. The massive screens flanking the stage, which had been displaying the Cross Urban Development logo, suddenly went black.
Then, crystal clear video footage flooded the screens.
The ballroom gasped as one collective entity. It was the laundry room footage. There was Evelyn, in high definition, pinning a terrified Clara Whitmore to the ironing board, brandishing the hot iron. The audio blasted through the state-of-the-art sound system.
“By the time Nathaniel signs the Detroit contracts, he won’t just be bankrupt. He’ll be facing federal indictments for embezzlement...”
Evelyn’s face drained of all color. She dropped her champagne flute; it shattered on the marble floor, the sound piercing the shocked silence of the room.
“Turn it off!” Richard screamed, rushing toward the AV booth.
“I wouldn’t do that, Richard,” Nathaniel said, his voice dropping an octave, carrying absolute authority.
The heavy oak doors of the ballroom burst open. Two dozen federal agents in tactical gear poured into the room, led by a man in a sharp suit wielding a stack of warrants. The string quartet stopped playing with a discordant screech.
“Richard Vance! Evelyn Sterling!” The lead agent’s voice boomed over the chaos. “You are under arrest for conspiracy to commit wire fraud, corporate espionage, and attempted extortion.”
Evelyn began to hyperventilate. She looked around wildly, seeing the disgust and shock on the faces of the elite society she had worshipped. She scrambled toward the stage, her mask completely stripped away, revealing the desperate, feral creature underneath.
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“Nathaniel! It’s a lie! It’s a deepfake! He’s setting me up!” she shrieked, reaching for his legs.
Nathaniel stepped back, looking down at her with nothing but cold indifference. “You dropped your mask, Evelyn. And the whole world saw what was underneath. The money didn't go to the Caymans. It went to the FBI. They have everything.”
