Chapter 5 - The Glass in the Gallery
"Victoria, please, think rationally for one second!" Richard pleaded, stepping around the table, his tone shifting into a smooth, manipulative register. "You are experiencing a grief-induced delusion! Someone found that old family watch, bought a fake replica bracelet, and trained this orphan to say those names to derail the merger tonight!"
Victoria slowly stood up, holding the little girl—Charlotte—firmly against her hip. The child wrapped her small arms around Victoria’s neck, hiding her dirty face against the emerald satin.
Victoria turned her head, looking at her husband of fifteen years as if seeing him for the first time in her life.
"A replica?" Victoria asked, her voice dropping into a quiet, terrifying register that made Richard’s breath hitch. "Only three people in the world knew about the crescent bracelet, Richard. Myself, the silversmith who died fifteen years ago... and the man who paid the clinic doctors to sign a forged death certificate."
Julian Vance suddenly stood up from the table, clutching his briefcase. "Victoria, as the family attorney, I strongly advise you to take this discussion into a private room before—"
"Shut up, Julian," Victoria said without looking at him.
She bent down, picked up the cracked gold watch from the floorboards, and slipped it into her emerald dress pocket. Then, she looked around the grand ballroom. Four hundred wealthy guests stood in uncomfortable, frozen silence, watching the total collapse of the Sterling family facade.
"The gala is over," Victoria announced, her voice echoing clearly off the marble walls. "Everyone leave. Now."
No one argued. Within five minutes, the guests began streaming toward the exit doors in a hurried, nervous wave, whispering frantically among themselves as security rushed to open the coats stations.
When the heavy oak double doors slammed shut behind the last guest, only four people remained in the cavernous, chandelier-lit ballroom: Victoria, Charlotte, Richard, and Julian Vance.
Victoria walked slowly toward the gallery corridor, holding Charlotte close.
"Where are you going?" Richard demanded, following two paces behind, his leather shoes clicking loudly on the marble.
"I am going to my father’s private estate vault," Victoria replied calmly, her tone as cold as winter ice. "The vault where he kept the private medical logs and corporate clearance files from 2006. The vault you took over after his death."
Richard’s face morphed from panicked manipulation into a sharp, ugly mask of pure malice.
"You can't open that vault, Victoria," Richard hissed, reaching into his tuxedo jacket. "The security codes were updated last week. You don't have access anymore."
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Victoria stopped at the entrance of the gallery corridor. She turned her head, offering her husband a thin, lethal smile that sent a shiver of true horror straight down his spine.
"This is my house, Richard," Victoria said softly. "I built this empire. And I own every single key."
