Chapter 4 - The Red Velvet Clutch
A cascade of paper fluttered from Corinne’s clutch, raining down onto the polished dance floor. Receipts. Bank slips. Travel itineraries.
Penelope marched off the stage, her heavy silk train dragging behind her. The wedding guests parted like the Red Sea. No one breathed.
“Penny, sweetheart,” Tristan started, holding his hands up placatingly. “This is a misunderstanding. Grown-up business. Put the microphone down.”
Penelope didn’t put it down. She walked straight to the family table, grabbed Corinne by the arm, and yanked her out of the chair marked BRIDE’S MOTHER.
“Get out of my mother’s seat,” Penelope hissed.
Corinne stumbled in her heels, her face flushing crimson as two hundred of San Diego’s elite watched her humiliation. “Don’t you dare touch me, you spoiled little brat—”
“I went to the bridal suite to touch up my makeup,” Penelope said into the microphone, her voice echoing off the vaulted ceilings. “Corinne left her bag in there. It fell off the counter. And do you know what spilled out, Dad? Two one-way first-class tickets to Geneva. Departing tomorrow morning.”
Tristan flinched.
I felt the air leave my lungs. Tomorrow morning. The morning after his only daughter’s wedding, he was planning to flee the country with his mistress and the money stolen from my family home.
“Tristan?” Gertrude gasped, gripping the wheels of her chair. “Geneva? But… the new company is based in Seattle. You said I was moving to the Seattle estate with you and Corinne.”
Corinne let out a harsh, mocking laugh. She brushed off her dress and looked down at the old woman. “You really think I was going to wipe your drool in Seattle, Gertrude? Tristan was putting you in a state facility on Monday.”
Gertrude let out a strangled cry, her hands flying to her mouth. She looked at her golden boy, the son she had just betrayed me for. Tristan wouldn’t meet her eyes.
“You monster,” Penelope cried, tears finally spilling over her mascara. She turned to me. “Mom, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry he did this to you.”
“It’s over,” Tristan snapped, suddenly dropping the charming facade. His face twisted into a snarl of pure venom. He looked at me, then at Charles Sterling. “It doesn’t matter. The loan is processed. The money is in an offshore account. You won't see a dime of it, Laura. I’ve outplayed you. I’m leaving, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”
He turned on his heel, grabbing Corinne’s hand to march out of the ballroom.
May you like
“Actually, there is,” Gabriel’s voice rang out.
My new son-in-law stepped out from the crowd, blocking the main exit doors. In his hands, he held a thick, leather-bound ledger.
