Chapter 7 - SAVANNAH’S FALL
With Grant dragged away in handcuffs, the entire room shifted its attention to the remaining culprit.
Savannah Pierce stood alone near the champagne pyramid, trembling, surrounded by five hundred powerful people who were staring at her with pure hatred. Her high-society dream had turned into an absolute, apocalyptic nightmare.
She looked around frantically, looking for an escape route.
“Where do you think you’re going, Savannah?” Clara asked smoothly, stepping toward her.
Savannah backed up until her lower back hit the edge of the glass champagne pyramid table. “Stay away from me! You can't touch me! I didn't steal any corporate funds! I didn't do anything illegal!”
“You committed assault on a five-year-old child,” Clara said.
Two female NYPD officers stepped out from the police detachment and approached Savannah.
“Savannah Higgins, alias Savannah Pierce,” the lead female officer announced, pulling out an arrest warrant. “You are under arrest for felony assault on a minor, reckless endangerment, and outstanding warrants for financial fraud in the state of Illinois.”
Savannah’s face drained of all color. “No! It was an accident! The little brat ran into my hand!”
“We have the full medical report from Greenwich Hospital,” the officer snapped, grabbing Savannah’s manicured arm firmly. “Including deep tissue bruising and micro-fractures consistent with a full-force physical strike. Put your hands behind your back!”
“Don't touch me!” Savannah shrieked, thrashing violently. “Do you know how much this dress costs?! Twenty-eight thousand dollars! You ugly cops can't touch silk like this!”
In her hysterical struggle to break free from the female officer, Savannah’s high heel caught on the edge of the heavy table skirt.
She lost her balance completely.
CRASH!
Savannah fell backward directly into the six-foot-tall glass champagne pyramid.
Hundreds of crystal glasses shattered in a deafening cascade, raining down all over her. Sticky, golden champagne poured over her blonde hair, soaked her makeup, and drenched every single inch of her silver designer gown.
She hit the floor hard, landing flat on her back in a massive pool of cheap champagne and broken glass, covered in sticky liquid, her hair ruined, screaming like a wild animal.
The entire ballroom burst into loud, mocking laughter.
Socialites pulled out their smartphones, taking high-resolution videos and photos of Savannah screaming in the broken glass and champagne, instantly uploading them to social media. Within seconds, the video titled “Gold Digger Mistress Demolished at Plaza Gala” began trending worldwide.
Clara walked over to the edge of the sticky pool, looking down at Savannah.
The twenty-eight thousand dollar gown was completely ruined—shredded by broken glass, stained yellow by champagne, and covered in filth.
Clara reached into her clutch bag, pulled out a single one-dollar bill, and tossed it down onto Savannah’s champagne-soaked chest.
May you like
“For the dress,” Clara said coldly.
Savannah sobbed hysterically, wiping sticky champagne from her eyes, totally broken, as the female officers hauled her out of the glass pool and clicked heavy cuffs onto her wrists.
