Chapter 47 - Poison in the Champagne
Julian’s eyes narrowed into slits, though his practiced society smile remained plastered across his wrinkled face.
"A charming melodrama," Julian chuckled, stepping down from the platform. "Arthur Sinclair was a great man, but he was a dreamer. He left his commercial empire in ruin. My family rebuilt it from the salt flats of Charleston to the ports of Rotterdam. You bring romantic illusions to a business that trades in iron and steel."
"You didn't rebuild anything, Julian," Vance stepped forward, his voice a low, resonant rumble that demanded silence. "You orchestrated Arthur Sinclair’s disappearance, forged his signature on offshore trust deeds, and used Victor to systematically strip Rachel of every dollar she owned."
Julian laughed softly, gesturing to a passing waiter. He picked up two crystal flutes of vintage champagne and extended one toward me.
"A bold accusation from a bodyguard whose federal badge was retired years ago, Mr. Vance," Julian murmured, stepping uncomfortably close. "In Charleston, accusations require evidence. Without evidence, a mother can find herself declared legally incompetent before breakfast. And a sweet little infant like Chloe... well, the Sterling Foundation has wonderful foster facilities overseas."
The mention of Chloe sent a rush of fire through my veins.
Before Vance could react, I took the champagne glass from Julian’s hand. I didn't drink. Instead, I let my fingers uncurl.
The delicate crystal shattered violently against the marble floor at Julian's polished shoes, splashing amber liquid across his velvet slippers.
Gasps echoed through the ballroom.
"Keep my daughter’s name out of your mouth," I said, every word laced with venom. "Tomorrow morning at ten o'clock, the Charleston Chancery Court will see the authentic 1984 Maritime Registry. And your family’s fifty-year empire will crumble to dust."
Julian didn't blink, but the muscle in his left cheek twitched with uncontrolled rage. He leaned in, his whisper cold enough to freeze blood.
"You won't survive until ten o'clock, Rachel. This city belongs to me."
As we turned our backs and walked through the parting crowd of stunned aristocrats, Vance touched the radio transmitter in his cuff.
May you like
"Team Alpha, initiate lockdown on the penthouse suite now," Vance ordered quietly. "We're moving Rachel and Chloe to the secondary safe house."
***
