Chapter 7 - The Gala of Ruin
The massive projector screens around the ballroom flickered to life. But instead of a charity video, the screen displayed a pristine, high-resolution Excel spreadsheet.
A collective gasp echoed through the ballroom.
I stepped up to the microphone, the room plunging into a dead, electric silence.
"Good evening," I said, my voice echoing off the crystal chandeliers. "Many of you have read some interesting fiction about me in the tabloids this week. My soon-to-be ex-husband claims I stole his hard-earned business. I believe in transparency. So, let’s look at the facts."
I clicked a remote in my hand. The spreadsheet highlighted a series of massive red deficits.
"This is Vanguard Logistics. A company that has lost money every single quarter for four years. The only reason it survived was because my holding company secretly injected capital into it to protect my husband's pride."
I clicked the remote again. The screen shifted to a series of wire transfers.
"However, recently, I discovered that Marcus wasn't just a poor businessman. He was a thief. Here, you can see Marcus embezzling over $400,000 from Vanguard’s operational funds—funds provided by me—to lease a luxury condo and purchase vehicles for his twenty-two-year-old mistress."
The crowd erupted into furious whispers. I looked down at Marcus. He was trembling violently, his mouth opening and closing like a suffocating fish. Beatrice looked as if she was going to faint. The high society she worshipped was looking at her family not just with pity, but with absolute disgust.
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"I am officially pressing charges for corporate embezzlement and fraud," I announced to the room. "Please, enjoy the rest of your evening."
I walked off the stage. Marcus tried to run toward me, but the crowd physically parted, stepping away from him as if he were diseased, blocking his path. He was ruined. Not just financially, but socially, completely, and permanently.
