Chapter 6 - Thirty-Two Years of Blood, Sweat, and Stolen Credits
I walked to the center of the dance floor, taking the wireless microphone that Victor had dropped on the stage.
My voice echoed through the pristine sound system of the St. Regis:
“For thirty-two years, everyone in this city believed that Victor Montgomery was a visionary logistics magnate. You believed Allison was the golden socialite who deserved the world, and that I was the bitter, unlovable daughter who couldn't keep a man.”
I pointed toward the large projector screens that had been set up to display photos of Allison and Preston’s childhood memories.
Daniel signaled to his technical director standing at the AV booth.
The screen flickered. Instead of childhood photographs, high-resolution forensic financial audits and internal Montgomery Logistics emails flashed across the thirty-foot monitors.
“From 2018 to 2023,” I continued, “I personally managed ninety-four percent of Montgomery Logistics’ commercial freight routing. When the company was on the verge of bankruptcy during the global supply chain crisis, who stayed up seventy-two hours straight to renegotiate the maritime shipping manifests? It wasn’t Victor. He was in Monaco on a chartered yacht.”
The crowd stared at the screen, which displayed Victor’s luxury expense reports alongside timestamps of my late-night system logins.
“Who settled the $3 million tax lien filed by the IRS against this family in 2021?” I asked, turning to look directly at my mother. “It wasn’t Allison’s modeling contracts. It was a private transfer from my personal offshore consulting account. I saved this family four separate times from absolute financial ruin, and in return, you pushed me into a fountain to make four hundred strangers laugh.”
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Victor fell to his knees on the dance floor, his hands shaking. “Meredith... please... stop. Have mercy. We’re your blood.”
“Blood?” I laughed, the sound cold and clear. “When I was eighteen and nearly died of pneumonia in my college dorm, you refused to wire $500 for my medication because Allison needed a new designer dress for her debutante ball. You don't have blood, Victor. You have balance sheets and vanity.”
