Chapter 17 - The Queen's RetortI didn't flinch. I didn't drop my champagne flute. I slowly turned around, facing her with a calm, icy composure that made the roaring silence in the room feel like a vacuum.
Marcus stepped forward protectively, but I raised a hand, stepping out into the center of the polished marble floor alone.
Beatrice marched furiously toward me, her heels clicking aggressively against the stone. "You trapped him! You manipulated the board, you framed him for crimes he never would have committed, and now you’re parading around in our house like you own the world!"
"Beatrice," I said, my voice low, clear, and carrying effortlessly across the silent room without a microphone. "Your son didn't need my help to destroy himself. He did that all on his own through endless arrogance, embezzlement, and infidelity."
"Lies!" Beatrice screeched, her face mottled with rage. "Julian was a visionary! He built Vance Global!"
"Julian inherited a seed planted by his father, and spent four years running it into the ground while funding his mistress with corporate slush funds," I replied sharply, stepping closer to her until she was forced to look up into my eyes. "And if you check the public federal court records—which I am more than happy to have my legal team print out and hand to every journalist in this room right now—you will see his signed confession for corporate fraud and wire embezzlement."
Beatrice’s breath hitched. The vicious fire in her eyes flickered, replaced by a sudden, terrifying realization that she was entirely outmatched.
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"Furthermore," I continued, my voice dropping an octave into an authoritative register, "this opera house, this ballroom, and the very foundation hosting tonight's gala operate under the Vance Family Trust—which legally transferred entirely to my sole ownership under Clause 14-B of the family charter."
I turned slightly toward the nearest security guards. "Escort Mrs. Vance off the premises immediately. She is trespassing on private property."
