Chapter 4 - THE EVAPORATION OF PRESTON VANCE
The silence in the grand ballroom was deafening for two full seconds before a wave of hushed whispers and clicking camera shutters erupted like a storm.
Clara stepped away from the podium, her emerald gown catching the light as she walked calmly toward the private VIP lounge behind the main stage. Arthur Pendelton and four security officers followed closely behind her.
At Central Table One, Preston sat frozen in his chair, his mind completely numb.
He stared at the stage, unable to process what had just happened. Terminated. Frozen. Eighty-five percent owned. The words echoed in his head over and over again like a bell tolling for a funeral.
“Preston...” Veronica’s voice was sharp, cold, and entirely devoid of the sweetness she had displayed hours earlier. She was already standing up, picking up her designer handbag. “What was that? Is that true? You don't own your company?”
Preston looked up at her, his eyes glassy and bloodshot. “Veronica, wait... let me explain. It’s... it’s a misunderstanding. Clara is my wife! She’s just doing this to get back at me because—”
“Your wife?” Veronica hissed, her eyes narrowing in disgust. “You told me she was a broke orphan who relied on you for allowance! You told me you built everything yourself!”
“I did! I mean... I managed it!” Preston stammered, standing up so fast his chair scraped loudly against the floor. “Veronica, listen to me!”
“Don't touch me!” Veronica snapped, pulling her arm away as if his touch burned her. “My father invested two million dollars in your supply chain venture last month based on your claim that Sterling Crown was funding you! If this gets out, my family’s reputation is destroyed!”
“Veronica, please!”
“We’re done, Preston,” she said coldly, stepping back toward the aisle. “Don't ever call me again.”
She turned on her high heels and briskly walked away, merging into the crowd of elite guests who were openly staring and pointing at Table One.
“Preston...” Evelyn whined, her voice trembling as she grabbed her son’s sleeve. Her face was flushed red with humiliation. “Preston, do something! Everyone is looking at us! Tell them she’s lying! Call the police! She can’t just stand up there and say those things about my son!”
“Shut up, Mother!” Preston snapped, shoving his hands into his tuxedo pockets to stop them from shaking.
He reached for his smartphone, intending to call his Chief Financial Officer, but as soon as he unlocked the screen, a series of red pop-up notifications flooded his display:
ALERT: Corporate Express Card Ending in 4092 - FROZEN ALERT: Executive Lease Agreement (2025 Rolls-Royce Ghost) - TERMINATED BY LESSOR ALERT: Server Access Denied - Vance Logistics Enterprise Network
“No... no, no, no!” Preston muttered frantically, tapping the screen over and over. “She can’t do this! It’s illegal!”
Two imposing figures in dark grey suits stepped up to Central Table One. They were not hotel security; they wore discreet silver pins on their lapels featuring the crown logo of Sterling Crown Holdings.
“Mr. Vance?” the taller security officer asked, his voice low and utterly devoid of emotion.
Preston glared at them, trying to summon whatever authority he had left. “Get out of my way. Do you have any idea who I am?”
“Yes, sir,” the officer replied calmly. “You are Mr. Preston Vance, former CEO. On behalf of Sterling Crown Corporate Legal, we have been instructed to escort you off the premises immediately.”
“Escort me?” Preston shouted, his voice cracking, drawing even more attention from nearby tables. “I am a invited guest! I paid for this table!”
“Actually, sir,” Arthur Pendelton’s voice broke in as the senior lawyer stepped out from behind the security team, holding a sleek black tablet. “The table was paid for using a corporate credit account belonging to Vance Logistics. Since your authorization has been revoked, you are currently trespassing on private property leased by Sterling Crown.”
Arthur looked down at Preston over his gold-rimmed spectacles with a look of quiet disdain.
“Furthermore, Mr. Vance, the valet team has already been notified. The corporate limousine you arrived in has been dispatched back to the central fleet depot. You will need to arrange private transportation.”
Evelyn gasped loudly, putting a hand over her mouth. “You expect us to call an Uber? Do you know who we are?”
“I know exactly who you are, Mrs. Vance,” Arthur said smoothly. “You are the mother of a man who owes my firm roughly forty-two million dollars in callable debt obligations.”
Arthur tapped his tablet screen and held it out toward Preston.
“Our legal team will be delivering a formal notice of foreclosure to your residential address in Coral Gables by eight o'clock tomorrow morning. I suggest you go home and start packing.”
Preston felt his knees give out. He stumbled back against his chair, his chest heaving as he stared at the formidable lawyer.
“She... she planned this,” Preston whispered, terror finally settling deep into his soul. “She planned all of this.”
May you like
“Madam Chairwoman does not plan revenge, Mr. Vance,” Arthur replied coolly, turning his back on them. “She simply collects what is owed. Escort them out.”
The two officers grabbed Preston and Evelyn by their arms, firmly guiding them out of the center of the grand ballroom under the glare of six hundred elite onlookers and dozens of flashing press cameras.
