Chapter 5 - The Engagement Party Counter-Attack
Word of the Rossi Global takeover spread through Wall Street faster than wildfire.
By Friday evening, the financial news networks were running non-stop banner headlines:
BREAKING: MYSTERIOUS BILLIONAIRE HEIRESS NINA ROSSI SEIZES CONTROLLING STAKE IN ASHFORD & STERLING CAPITAL. REAL ESTATE TYRANT ARTHUR ASHFORD OUSTED; FIRM FACES MASSIVE RESTRUCTURING.
I was sitting in my penthouse office overlooking Central Park, sipping a cup of green tea, when Marcus walked in with a sleek black tablet.
“You’re going to want to see this, Ms. Rossi,” Marcus said, a rare, amused smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.
He handed me the tablet. It was playing a live-streamed video from an exclusive society engagement party taking place at the Plaza Hotel ballroom downtown.
It was Camille Ashford and Trevor Slade’s official engagement celebration—an event hastily thrown together to salvage their public image following the corporate bloodbath earlier in the week.
On the screen, Camille stood beside Trevor under an arch of white roses, holding a microphone, wearing a pristine white evening gown. She looked frantic, her makeup heavy, her eyes darting nervously toward the camera lenses.
“I just want to thank everyone for coming tonight despite the... the unfortunate rumors circulating in the media,” Camille forced a tight, brittle smile into the camera. “My father’s business is undergoing a routine transition, and my fiancé Trevor has been a rock through it all. We are stronger than ever, and nothing can touch our future.”
Beside her, Trevor forced a stiff, exhausted smile, nodding mechanically.
“Oh, really?” I murmured aloud, watching the screen.
Marcus raised an eyebrow. “Shall we send a wedding gift, ma'asme?”
“We certainly shall,” I smiled, picking up my phone. “Connect me to the master AV control room at the Plaza Hotel. I have a special audio file I’d like broadcasted through their main sound system.”
Ten minutes later, inside the grand ballroom of the Plaza Hotel, Camille was just finishing her speech, raising her champagne flute to toast the cheering crowd of remaining sycophants.
“To our bright, unshakeable future!” Camille beamed.
Suddenly, the festive jazz music playing over the speakers cut out with a sharp pop.
A heavy, echoing silence filled the ballroom.
Then, crystal-clear and booming from every speaker mounted in the ceiling, a recorded phone conversation began to play:
“... Babe, seriously, once her dad’s firm goes under, what are we going to do with old money like Camille?” Trevor’s recorded voice echoed clearly across the ballroom. “We ride her father’s coattails until the merger clears, then we quietly push her aside,” Camille’s recorded voice giggled in response. “She’s stupidly easy to manipulate. Besides, it’s not like she’s ever had to work a real day in her life.”
The ballroom went dead silent.
On the livestream video, Camille’s glass slipped from her fingers, shattering against the marble floor into a hundred sparkling pieces. Her face drained of all color, turning a pasty, sickly gray as every guest in the room stared at her in absolute shock.
Trevor grabbed the microphone from her hand, his face purple with rage, screaming obscenities at the ceiling as camera flashes blinded him from every angle.
May you like
I set my tablet down on my desk, picked up my tea cup, and took a quiet, peaceful sip.
Game, set, match.
