Chapter 13 - The Trojan GalaThe California rain was pouring in sheets when our armored Maybach pulled up to the Palace of Fine Arts.
I did not dress like a woman whose husband was under federal indictment. I wore a custom, backless gown of liquid-emerald silk that pooled around my feet, accommodating my pregnancy with a fierce, radiant elegance. A vintage Cartier diamond choker rested against my collarbone. I looked absolute, and completely untouchable.
David walked beside me in a bespoke Savile Row tuxedo, radiating a dangerous, quiet authority that made the security staff physically step aside as we glided through the marble lobby.
The grand hall was a masterpiece of modern decadence. Crystal chandeliers hung above holographic displays, casting a warm glow over tech billionaires and politicians sipping champagne.
At the far end of the room, standing beneath a massive digital projection, was Julian Vance. He was in his early forties, wearing a sleek black turtleneck and a tailored blazer, looking like the quintessential arrogant tech god.
When he saw me, his smug smile faltered. The glass in his hand tilted, nearly spilling.
I locked eyes with the man who had tried to steal my husband's freedom. I raised my champagne flute in a slow, mocking toast, and began walking directly toward him.
"Sarah," Julian purred, recovering his composure as we stopped three feet from him. "How delightfully vulgar of you to cross the country uninvited. I thought you would be in New York, packing David's bags for a federal holding facility."
"The only person packing bags tonight is you, Julian," David replied smoothly, his voice a low, lethal baritone that carried easily over the silent, staring crowd.
Julian scoffed, offering a patronizing laugh. "Security! Remove these people from my event immediately."
Four private security guards moved toward us, but David simply reached into his tuxedo jacket and pulled out a gold-embossed credential bearing the seal of a federal judge.
"You have five seconds to step aside," David whispered to the guards, "or I will have the FBI seize this entire venue."
"You have nothing," Julian hissed, his refined mask cracking.
"Of course I have something, Julian," I said softly, opening my diamond-encrusted clutch. I pulled out a sleek, titanium flash drive. "Do you recognize this? It contains the complete, unredacted digital mirror of your personal servers. Specifically, the audio recordings of you bribing Thomas Sterling to forge the DOJ documents."
May you like
Julian looked like he was about to vomit on the marble floor.
"You forgot that my firm specializes in forensic asset tracing. We didn't just find the wire transfer, Julian. We found the IP address where you physically uploaded the fake files," I stepped entirely into his personal space. "You wanted our empire? You just signed your own death warrant."
