Chapter 2 - The Bystander Effect
The first stage of panic is always denial. The elite of the West Coast were not used to being told no. They were not used to locked doors they couldn't bribe their way through.
Senator Vance, a man whose campaigns were heavily funded by the Croft family, pushed his way to the front of the crowd. He adjusted his silk tie, puffing out his chest in a pathetic display of authority.
"Now see here, young lady," Senator Vance bellowed, pointing a manicured finger at me. "I don't care who your father is, or what little stunt you think you're pulling. I have a flight to D.C. in three hours. If you don't open those doors immediately, I will have the FBI raid this building and charge you with domestic terrorism."
I looked down at the tablet in my hands. I swiped the screen once.
"Senator Vance," I read aloud. "Chairman of the Ethics Committee. A very prestigious title. Tell me, Senator, does the Ethics Committee know about the offshore accounts in the Cayman Islands? The ones funded entirely by Croft Industries through shell corporations masked as charitable art donations?"
The senator’s arm dropped to his side. The bluster vanished from his face, replaced by a sickly, pale sheen of sweat.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," he stammered.
I tapped the screen again. Instantly, the massive digital projectors that had been displaying the auction items flickered. The image of a Renaissance painting was replaced by a high-definition scan of a bank ledger. It showed a direct wire transfer of three million dollars from a Croft subsidiary directly into a trust belonging to the senator’s daughter.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
"You watched Preston assault me tonight," I said coldly. "You turned your head because you thought protecting your bank account was more important than protecting a woman. But your bank account is gone, Senator. My father’s firm acquired that offshore bank last week. Your funds are frozen. Your career is over. Sit down and shut up."
The senator’s knees buckled. He collapsed onto a velvet viewing bench, putting his head between his knees, gasping for air.
I looked up at the sea of terrified faces. "Does anyone else have a flight they absolutely need to catch?"
No one spoke. No one breathed.
May you like
I turned my gaze back to Preston. He was backed against the bronze fountain, his eyes darting frantically for an exit that didn't exist. The realization was finally sinking in. The people he had relied on to cover his tracks his entire life were suddenly just as trapped, and just as vulnerable, as he was.
"You see, Preston," I whispered, stepping down from the podium and walking slowly toward him. "When you build an empire on blackmail and bribes, you don't actually have friends. You just have hostages. And tonight... they are mine."
