Chapter 4 - THE STORM AT THE WHITMORE TABLE
Back down in the Aurelia Grand ballroom, the party had descended into chaotic, controlled panic.
The guests had been ushered into the adjacent dining hall under the pretext of an "unforeseen technical delay," leaving only the Whitmore family standing alone beneath the glittering crystal chandelier.
Richard Whitmore was pacing the polished parquet floor like a trapped animal, his face flushed red with humiliation.
"She ruined us!" Richard roared, pointing a shaking finger toward the ceiling. "Do you realize who Niko Moretti is?! He holds our corporate notes! If he decides to call in our debts tomorrow morning, we'll be bankrupt by noon!"
Victoria Whitmore remained seated at the front table, her fingers calmly tracing the rim of her champagne glass.
"Stop pacing, Richard," Victoria said, her voice like cracking ice. "You're behaving like a fool."
"A fool?!" Richard yelled. "That girl—that bastard daughter of Eleanor—has the key! She has the proof! If Niko gives her the patent papers, our entire foundation, our design catalog, and our contracts with the European retailers vanish overnight!"
Bianca stood near the piano bench, tearing at her manicure with white-hot rage. "We have to get it back! We have to call the police! We'll tell them she broke into our safe and stole the family heirlooms!"
"Call the police and tell them what, Bianca?" Victoria asked, her eyes narrowing as she looked at her daughter. "That you publicly stripped your stepsister on live television and exposed a forged hemline? The press is already outside taking photographs of the stage. The story is out."
Victoria stood up, smoothing the silver sleeves of her gown.
May you like
"We are not going to panic," Victoria commanded, walking toward the private elevator doors. "We are going up to the penthouse. And we are going to remind Mr. Moretti of what happens when an outsider tries to meddle in family business."
---
