Chapter 8 - THE RECKONING IN PARIS
Grace Sullivan stepped forward,
handing a second folder to the French Minister of Finance.
“These are the records of Ethan Whitmore’s offshore tax evasion,”
she said.
The ballroom was now a scene of absolute chaos.
Investors were shouting.
Reporters were screaming questions.
Madison Vale’s father stormed onto the stage,
tearing up the ceremonial merger document.
“The deal is off!”
he roared at Ethan.
“You’re a dead man in this industry!”
Ethan lunged for me,
his face a mask of primal rage.
“You bitch!”
he screamed.
“I’ll kill you!”
He didn't even get close.
Charles Harrington’s security detail tackled him to the floor,
pinning him against the marble.
I looked down at him,
my face cold and untouchable.
“You already tried,
Ethan,”
I said.
“And you failed.”
I pulled out the photograph from the envelope.
I dropped it onto his back.
“My mother wanted you to have this,”
I whispered.
“She knew you were coming for me.”
“She just wanted me to be the one to finish you.”
The French police entered the ballroom,
their sirens wailing outside.
The Minister of Finance had seen enough.
“Ethan Whitmore,”
the lead officer said,
“you are under arrest for financial fraud and conspiracy to commit assault.”
They pulled him up,
handcuffing him in front of the world’s elite.
Madison Vale was crying,
her emerald coat stained with spilled wine.
She looked at me,
her eyes full of fear.
“I didn't know,”
she sobbed.
“You knew enough to wear my clothes,”
I said,
walking past her.
I walked out of the ballroom,
the gold silk of my dress trailing behind me.
I didn't look back at the cameras.
I didn't look back at the man I had once loved.
I walked out into the cool Paris night,
into the arms of my grandfather.
“It’s over,
Ava,”
he said.
“No,”
I replied,
May you like
looking up at the stars.
“It’s just beginning.”
