Chapter 5 - The Arrest at the Annual Gala
Three days later, the annual Sterling Philanthropic Winter Ball was scheduled to take place in the exact same ballroom.
To the public, the family projected an image of unbreakable unity. Press releases had been pushed out claiming Claire was recovering nicely at a private Swiss medical retreat, and that the family was deeply saddened by her absence.
Inside the mansion, however, the atmosphere was suffocating.
Victoria sat at her vanity mirror in her private suite, trembling as she zipped up a glittering emerald designer gown. Her phone buzzed continuously on the marble counter—texts from panicked socialites asking if the rumors about police warrants were true.
"It's a bluff," Victoria muttered to herself, her reflection staring back at her with wild, frantic eyes. "Julian is just trying to scare me. Dad will fix it. Dad always fixes everything."
There was a sudden, heavy knock at her bedroom door.
"Victoria? Open up," Arthur’s voice called from the hallway, sounding exhausted and defeated.
Victoria rushed to the door and flung it open. "Dad! You have to do something! Julian is insane! He’s actually threatening to—"
She stopped dead.
Standing behind Arthur weren't bodyguards. They were two senior detectives from the city’s homicide and major crimes division, accompanied by federal marshals.
"Victoria Sterling?" the lead detective asked calmly, stepping into the room and pulling a folded document from his breast pocket. "You are being placed under arrest for the attempted premeditated murder of Claire Sterling, and financial fraud."
Victoria stumbled backward, her breath catching in her throat. She looked wildly at her father, her eyes wide with betrayal. "Dad! Tell them! Tell them it's a lie! You’re Arthur Sterling! You own this city!"
Arthur turned his head away, unable to meet her gaze. He closed his eyes tightly. "I tried to protect you, Victoria. But you crossed a line even this family couldn't bury."
"No! NO!" Victoria shrieked, lunging toward the door, but the female marshal was faster, spinning her around and slamming her hands against her back. The cold click of steel handcuffs echoed sharply through the luxurious bedroom.
As they dragged her screaming and kicking down the very hallway where she had plotted her crimes, flashbulbs suddenly burst from the courtyard outside.
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Julian stood on the grand balcony overlooking the front gates. He held a glass of champagne in one hand, watching impassively as his sister—dressed in high-end couture and steel handcuffs—was shoved into the back of an unmarked police cruiser.
The cameras flashed relentlessly, immortalizing the fall of the Sterling princess for every headline across the nation by morning.
