Chapter 8 - The Public Execution
Before Grant could stammer a single word into his microphone, the side stage doors opened.
I stepped out from the shadows, walking slowly, deliberately toward the podium. The floor-length black velvet gown swept smoothly behind me, and every eye in the grand ballroom locked onto my face. The heavy silence that followed was absolute.
I reached the clear podium, gently resting my fingertips on the glass. I looked down into the crowd—past the shocked faces of the elite, past a terrified Sloane Mercer who was clutching her handbag with shaking hands, and straight into Grant’s panicked eyes.
“Thank you for that wonderful introduction, Grant,” my voice cut cleanly through the silent room, amplified by my microphone. “Though I think you forgot a few crucial details regarding our portfolio restructuring.”
I held up a crisp, signed legal document for the entire room to see.
“Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Evelyn Hawthorne Holloway,” I announced, letting each word land with the weight of a gavel. “For twenty years, my husband has enjoyed the benefits of leading a company he did not build, utilizing assets he does not own, and attempting to liquidate my family’s heritage behind my back.”
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A collective gasp swept through the ballroom. Flashbulbs began firing blindingly from every angle.
“You see, Grant,” I continued, turning my gaze directly to him as he stood paralyzed on stage, “when you’re busy filming anniversary videos in hotel mirrors, it’s remarkably easy to forget what a reflection actually shows. It shows the laptop screen. It shows the spreadsheet. And most importantly, it shows a man committing corporate fraud.”
