Chapter 8 - The Guillotine Drops
The screen shifted. It played the surveillance footage of Vanessa handing a briefcase of cash to Thomas, the head of security, in a dark parking garage.
Next to the video, text messages between Vanessa and the off-Broadway actor scrolled rapidly. Vanessa: "Make sure Julian sees you helping her into the car. Put your hand on her waist. I'll make sure the cameras are rolling." Actor: "Got it. When do I get the rest of the 10k?"
The murmurs in the ballroom erupted into gasps of horror. The socialites covered their mouths. The journalists began snapping photos frantically.
Vanessa backed away from Julian, her face the color of chalk. "Turn it off!" she shrieked, the elegant mask entirely gone, replaced by the shrill, desperate panic of a cornered animal. "This is a deepfake! It's a lie! Julian, they are trying to ruin me!"
Julian turned to look at her. The absolute zero temperature in his eyes made her freeze.
"You ruined yourself, Vanessa," Julian said into the microphone, ensuring the entire room heard every word. "You framed my wife. You deleted her medical records. You tried to murder my children by forcing a pregnant woman into the streets."
"I did it for us!" Vanessa screamed hysterically, tears of rage ruining her makeup. "She was weak, Julian! She was dragging you down! I am your equal! I belong with you!"
"You belong in a cage," Julian corrected her coldly.
The heavy mahogany doors at the back of the ballroom swung open. Half a dozen federal agents, led by a detective from the financial crimes unit, marched into the room.
"Vanessa Sterling?" the lead agent announced, stepping onto the stage. "You are under arrest for conspiracy, wire fraud, grand larceny, and extortion."
"No! Get your hands off me! Do you know who I am?!" Vanessa shrieked as the agents grabbed her arms, wrenching them behind her back to snap the steel handcuffs around her wrists.
"You're nobody," Julian whispered as she was dragged past him.
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The room watched in stunned, absolute silence as the glowing bride-to-be was hauled out of the ballroom, screaming obscenities, her custom silk gown dragging on the floor.
Julian set the microphone on the stand, picked up his glass of scotch, and walked out of the hotel. The air outside was crisp and clean. The poison had been extracted.
