Chapter 9
The Betrayal from Within
Before Dominic could lunge toward me, the ballroom doors at the back of the hall burst open.
Not with the quiet grace of late-arrival guests.
With a heavy, violent crash.
Four men in black tactical gear marched into the room, led not by federal marshals, but by our former general manager from Le Rêve—Simon.
Simon’s face was twisted in a manic, desperate grin.
He held a heavy-duty encrypted laptop in his left hand and a pistol in his right.
“Don't move, anyone!” Simon screamed, firing a single round into the high plaster ceiling.
Bang!
Screams erupted across the ballroom.
Champagne glasses shattered as wealthy socialites dove beneath velvet tables.
Dominic blinked in surprise.
“Simon?” Dominic barked.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Simon marched straight up to Dominic, panting heavily.
“I’m saving your empire, Mr. Pierce!” Simon yelled over the chaos.
“This little bitch has been working with Interpol and the Russian Bratva! She has the backup servers!”
Dominic slowly turned his gaze back to me.
The shock on his face melted back into a cold, psychotic smirk.
“Well, well,” Dominic chuckled softly, raising his chin.
“It seems my staff has quite a talent for betrayal. First you, Clara. Now Simon wants a promotion.”
Simon grabbed my arm, twisting it behind my back with brutal force.
“Where is the flash drive, Clara?” Simon hissed into my ear.
“Where did you put the ledger files?”
I gritted my teeth against the pain, refusing to cry out.
“You’re working for a dead man, Simon,” I whispered fiercely.
“The moment the federal authorities arrive, Dominic will throw you under the bus faster than you can blink.”
“Shut up!” Simon snarled, raising the butt of his pistol to strike my cheek.
Suddenly, the ballroom sound system crackled to life.
The orchestra speakers blasted not music, but a crystal-clear audio recording.
It was Dominic’s voice echoing across the entire PA system:
“The acquisition of my father’s shipping company... we engineered the hostile takeover, drove him to a fatal stroke, and married his daughter to seal the title.”
The entire ballroom went dead silent.
Every guest, every prosecutor, every politician stared in stunned horror at the speakers overhead.
Dominic’s face turned the color of raw meat.
“Turn that off!” Dominic roared, lunging toward the sound booth.
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“Too late, Dominic,” a calm, deep voice echoed from the main entrance.
Retired Detective Miller stepped through the doors, followed by a dozen federal marshals with weapons drawn.
