Chapter 7 - The Grand Regency
The Grand Regency Ballroom was a sea of crystal chandeliers, tuxedos, and silk gowns. The city’s high-society elite gathered for the annual Vance Enterprises Gala, whispering about the dramatic corporate feud between Carter Vance and the crumbling Bennett empire.
Derek Bennett arrived at 8:30 PM, looking pale, disheveled, and gaunt. Underneath his tuxedo jacket, he carried a signed transfer deed for his company, intending to force Carter to trade the video file for the assets.
He moved through the crowd, downing glass after glass of champagne to steady his frantic nerves.
At 8:55 PM, the ballroom lights dimmed.
Carter Vance stepped onto the central stage, taking the microphone. The crowd applauded warmly as the billionaire stood tall, commanding the room with effortless authority.
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," Carter’s voice echoed through the state-of-the-art sound system. "Tonight, we celebrate progress, resilience, and above all... justice."
Derek stood near the back, clutching his leather folder, his heart hammering against his ribs. Just sign the papers and give me the video, he prayed silently.
"Many of you know that recently, Bennett Pharmaceuticals suffered a tragic accident," Carter continued, looking directly across the room, locking eyes with Derek. "Or so Mr. Derek Bennett would have you believe."
The crowd murmured in confusion. Derek took a step backward toward the exit doors, but two beefy security guards silently stepped behind him, blocking his path.
"Mr. Bennett believed that money could buy silence, that cold metal could hide a murder, and that a wife’s life was worth less than a three-million-dollar insurance payout," Carter said, his voice ringing with cold fury.
"What are you doing?!" Derek yelled from the crowd, his voice cracking with panic. "This is slander!"
"Is it?" Carter smiled coldly. "Let’s ask the victim."
Carter turned toward the grand double doors at the side of the stage.
The heavy doors swung open.
The ballroom fell into dead silence.
Walking down the velvet carpet was Grace Bennett.
She wore a sweeping, emerald-green silk gown that sculpted her restored figure. Her golden hair was pinned back elegantly, her skin radiant, her eyes glowing with ferocious, terrifying strength. Flanking her were four armed Federal Marshals.
Derek’s glass slipped from his fingers, smashing against the marble floor. His face turned the color of ash. His knees buckled, and he grabbed the edge of a table to keep from collapsing.
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"G-Grace?" Derek choked out, his voice a pathetic, wheezing whisper. "You're... you're dead..."
"I survived the cold, Derek," Grace said, her clear, powerful voice carrying across the silent ballroom as she stopped right in front of him. "And I brought your children into the world."
