Chapter 3 - THE PRICE OF ARROGANCE
Adrian snatched the document from Celeste’s hand,
his eyes darting across the legalese.
He didn't understand numbers,
he only understood status.
But even he could recognize the number twenty,
followed by six zeroes.
"This is a joke,"
he stammered,
looking toward the crowd for support.
"Mara,
stop this performance."
I didn't blink.
"The only performance here,
Adrian,"
"was your marriage to a bank account you didn't check."
Celeste finally found her voice,
though it was shrill and jagged.
"You can't do this,"
she hissed.
"The clinic has patients,"
"we have surgeries scheduled."
"Voss Aesthetics is a landmark!"
I tilted my head,
letting the light catch my earrings.
"Voss Aesthetics is a liability,"
I corrected.
"You guaranteed this loan with your personal property,
Celeste."
"This ballroom,"
"the catering,"
"your New York penthouse,"
"even the ring on your finger."
"Technically,
it all belongs to Vesper Holdings now."
A soft murmur broke out among the elite guests.
The senator’s wife looked at Adrian’s mother,
who was suddenly trying to hide her face behind a silk fan.
The hospital board chairman stepped back,
distancing himself from the groom as if he were contagious.
In this room,
poverty was a disease,
and the symptoms were showing on Celeste’s face.
I checked my watch,
a simple piece that Adrian had once called 'too plain.'
"The wire transfer must be initiated by midnight,"
I said.
"Otherwise,
the foreclosure notices go to the press at 8:00 AM."
Adrian grabbed my arm,
his grip tight and desperate.
"Mara,
let's talk about this privately."
"We were family once."
I pulled my arm away,
my eyes cold and dead.
"We were a transaction,
Adrian."
"And I'm just closing the books."
I turned my back on them,
walking through the sea of tuxedoes and gowns.
I could hear Celeste starting to sob,
the sound muffled by the lace of her veil.
I could hear Adrian’s mother shouting for the wedding planner.
May you like
I didn't look back.
The air in the ballroom was finally starting to feel fresh.
