Chapter 6 - The Unraveling of Sloane Avery
While Eleanor and Grayson stood paralyzed by the revelation of their family's historical subjugation, the front elevator chimed again.
This time, the doors slid open to reveal a very different kind of visitor.
Sloane Avery stepped out into the penthouse foyer, wearing an expensive designer trench coat, her sunglasses perched dramatically on her head. She looked around the minimalist luxury of the room, her expression instantly shifting from cautious anxiety to her signature, saccharine smile.
"Oh, Grayson, thank goodness you're here," Sloane purred, walking briskly across the marble floor toward us, completely ignoring the tension radiating from Eleanor and Grayson. "I've been calling your phone for an hour! The leasing office at the loft just called—they said our deposit wire bounced, and my moving company is refusing to unload my furniture until we clear the payment!"
She stopped dead in her tracks as she finally noticed me standing by the desk, flanked by Marcus and looking utterly unbothered.
Sloane’s smile faltered, replaced by a twitch of irritation. "Oh. You're still here. Look, Isla, or whatever your real name is—let's be adults about this. Grayson and I are moving on. You got your little dramatic moment at the ballroom, which was honestly pathetic, but now you need to sign the property release forms so we can get our lives started."
I looked at Sloane with genuine, unadulterated amusement.
"Sloane, darling," I said, tilting my head. "Did Grayson ever tell you where the money for that downtown loft was coming from?"
Sloane blinked, her confidence wobbling slightly. "It... it was from his venture capital fund. His corporate account."
"His corporate account," I repeated, letting out a soft chuckle. "Which was entirely funded by a revolving credit line backed by the Whitaker Estate trust. A credit line that was terminated yesterday at 8:46 PM."
Sloane spun around to face Grayson, her face draining of color. "Grayson? What is she talking about? You told me you were a multi-millionaire! You told me your tech firm was about to be bought out by a Silicon Valley giant for fifty million dollars!"
Grayson didn't look at her. He stared at the floor, his shoulders slumped, his silence acting as a full, pathetic confession.
"You lied to me," Sloane whispered, her voice rising in panic and betrayal. "You told me your wife was just a boring country girl you were going to discard, and that your family had unlimited wealth! I gave up a wealthy congressman for you, Grayson! I ruined my social standing to be your mistress!"
"You chose each other," I interrupted smoothly, walking over to the wet bar and pouring myself a fresh glass of sparkling water. "And now you get to share the consequences. Because as of this morning, Sloane, your boutique downtown—the one Grayson supposedly bought and paid for under your name—is also tied to a fraudulent corporate shell company currently under federal investigation for embezzlement."
Sloane let out a blood-curdling shriek of pure rage, lunging toward Grayson with her manicured nails extended. "You ruined me! You absolute piece of trash, you ruined my life!"
Grayson threw his hands up to protect his face as Sloane began clawing at his designer shirt, screaming obscenities that echoed off the minimalist glass walls of the penthouse.
Eleanor stood frozen, watching her son get physically assaulted by the very woman she had welcomed into her family circle just twenty-four hours earlier to replace me.
"Marcus," I said calmly, taking a sip of my sparkling water. "Escort our guests out. If they touch so much as a decorative pillow on their way to the service elevator, have the building security call the local precinct."
May you like
"Right away, Miss Aurelia," Marcus said, stepping forward with terrifying efficiency.
Within thirty seconds, the penthouse was cleared of the screaming, weeping, and utterly broken remnants of the Thorne family. The double doors closed, locking them out of my world forever.
