Chapter 3 - The Sinking Ship
The air conditioning in the conservatory hummed quietly, but the room felt as though it were a hundred degrees. Men in tailored tuxedos were loosening their ties, their faces slick with anxious sweat. Women who had spent thousands of dollars on hair and makeup looked haggard, terrified by the inescapable reality of their situation.
Preston’s closest friends—the ones who had laughed when he shoved me—were huddled near the bar. They were whispering frantically to each other, shooting terrified glances in my direction.
I approached the tactical commander. "Have the perimeter secure?" I asked quietly.
"Perimeter is absolute, Ms. Cross," the commander replied, his voice a low gravel. "Local law enforcement attempted to breach the front gates three minutes ago. The titanium shutters held. They are currently establishing a cordon outside, but they have no jurisdiction to force entry on a federally chartered security lockdown without a specialized warrant."
"Good. Keep them outside."
I walked over to the bar, where Preston’s entourage stood. The moment I approached, they scattered like cockroaches exposed to the light, leaving only one man behind: Julian Pierce. Julian was Preston’s right-hand man, a sleazy trust-fund kid who managed the Crofts' public relations.
"Julian," I said pleasantly.
He flinched. "Serena. Look, I didn't touch you. You saw it! I didn't do anything!"
"Exactly," I said, my voice hardening. "You didn't do anything. But you are going to do something now."
I signaled to one of the guards. The guard walked over, carrying a stack of pristine white legal pads and a handful of expensive fountain pens. He dropped them onto the marble bar top with a heavy thud.
"What is this?" Julian asked, his voice trembling.
"These are sworn witness statements," I explained, leaning against the bar. "You are going to write down exactly what you saw tonight. You are going to detail how Preston Croft assaulted me unprovoked. You are going to sign it, date it, and hand it back to my guards."
Julian swallowed hard, looking across the room at Preston, who was watching us with wide, furious eyes. "If I write that... Preston will destroy me."
"If you don't write it," I replied, leaning in close so only he could hear, "I will release the footage of what you did in that hotel room in Vegas last summer. The one involving the underage girl."
Julian went completely rigid. All the color drained from his face until he looked like a corpse in a tuxedo.
"Pick up the pen, Julian," I commanded.
With a shaking hand, he picked up the pen and began to write.
May you like
I looked around the room. "There are enough legal pads for everyone who witnessed the assault! Those who write down the truth will be allowed to leave through the service elevator once the federal authorities arrive. Those who refuse will be locked in this room and charged as accessories to a crime. You have ten minutes."
The panic shifted into survival instinct. In a matter of seconds, the elite of the city were elbowing each other out of the way, desperate to grab a pen and betray Preston Croft to save their own skin.
