Chapter 4 - THE SAPPHIRE GALA
The museum was transformed into a sea of blue and silver.
The Sapphire Gala was the event of the season,
the place where fortunes were made and reputations were destroyed.
I arrived alone,
wearing a dress of my own design.
It was simple,
black,
and sharp enough to cut.
Graham was already there,
holding a glass of champagne,
holding court near the grand staircase.
He looked like the king of the world.
And then,
Sloane Avery entered.
She looked like a goddess in the midnight blue gown.
The cameras flashed frantically.
The fabric shimmered like the deep ocean.
She walked toward Graham,
her head held high.
But something was wrong.
As she reached the center of the room,
the lights hit the dress at a specific angle.
The embroidery I had spent forty hours on began to change.
I had used a reactive thread,
one that shifted color under the heat of high-intensity stage lights.
The elegant patterns of flowers began to disappear.
In their place,
words began to emerge across the bodice and the skirt.
They were numbers.
Dates.
Account codes.
The dress was a walking ledger of Graham's crimes.
The crowd began to murmur.
People leaned in,
squinting at the gown.
"Is that... a bank routing number?"
someone whispered.
"Look at the hem,"
another added.
"It says 'Embezzled'."
Sloane noticed the change in the atmosphere.
She looked down at herself,
her eyes widening in horror.
She tried to cover the fabric with her hands,
but the words were everywhere.
Graham's face went from smug to ghostly white.
He grabbed her arm,
trying to pull her toward the exit.
"Wait,"
I said,
stepping into their path.
The fashion editor from Bellweather was right behind me,
her phone recording everything.
"Don't leave yet, Graham,"
I said loudly enough for the whole circle to hear.
"The show is just starting."
At that moment,
two men in dark suits stepped forward from the crowd.
They weren't guests.
They were federal agents.
"Graham Hart?"
one asked.
"We have a warrant for your arrest."
"Regarding the fraudulent transfer of funds from Maison Hart."
The room erupted in a frenzy of flashes.
Graham looked at me,
his face contorted with rage.
"You bitch,"
he hissed.
"You ruined us."
"No,"
I said,
taking a sip of my wine.
May you like
"I just revealed the 'presentation'."
"Isn't that what you said I was good at?"
