Chapter 5 - The Downward Spiral
“Mommy?” Lily’s small voice broke through the ringing in my ears.
She tugged on my hand, looking up at me with tears finally pooling in her hazel eyes. “Grandpa Arthur didn’t forget us. He didn’t leave us behind.”
I dropped to my knees right there on the platform and pulled Lily into my arms. I buried my face in her hair, sobbing so hard my ribs ached. “No, baby. He didn’t. He loved you so much.”
Behind us, pandemonium broke loose.
The heavy oak doors of the Rosewood Estate burst open. Four uniformed officers from the Newport Police Department entered, their utility belts clinking ominously, led by a silver-haired detective in an overcoat.
Detective Miller’s eyes surveyed the carnage: the shattered glass, the ruined cake, the sobbing bride in the puddle, and the giant screen displaying proof of a multi-million-dollar felony fraud.
“Graham,” Detective Miller said, walking straight to the front of the room. “We received your dispatch. What do we have here?”
Graham didn't flinch. He pointed directly down at Vanessa, who was now clutching the edge of a tablecloth, her knuckles white.
“Arrest her,” Graham said calmly. “Vanessa Whitmore is guilty of criminal fraud, falsifying legal probate documents, grand larceny, and corporate extortion. And arrest Marcus Vance for conspiracy to commit financial fraud.”
“No! No!” Vanessa shrieked as an officer approached her, pulling a pair of steel handcuffs from his belt. “Graham, wait! You can’t do this to me! Think of your reputation! Think of the press! If you do this, you’ll be a laughingstock!”
Graham knelt down, looking into her frantic, mascara-streaked eyes.
“My reputation will survive, Vanessa,” he whispered coldly. “A man who cuts out a cancer is praised. A man who lets it fester dies. You aren't my wife. You were never my wife. The minister hadn't even signed the registry.”
Graham stood back up and pulled a velvet jeweler's box from his pocket. He clicked it open, revealing a ten-carat flawless emerald-cut diamond ring—an heirloom that had belonged to his great-grandmother.
He didn't give it to her. He walked over to me.
“Claire,” Graham said, his voice deep and completely steady.
I stood up, wiping the tears from my cheeks, keeping Lily firmly behind my back.
Graham handed me the flash drive that the DJ had just ejected from the system. He placed it gently in my palm, then curled my fingers around it.
“This belongs to you,” Graham said. “And so does everything your father built. I will personally act as your lead counsel. Pro bono. We will file the petition in probate court on Monday morning. By the end of the week, every asset stolen from you will be seized and placed under a federal receivership.”
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Across the room, my mother let out a horrific, animalistic groan and collapsed onto a set of gilded chairs, fainting dead away into a pyramid of empty champagne glasses.
***
