Chapter 5 - The Surveillance
The entire ballroom stared up at the glowing screens.
Chloe’s breath hitched. Her eyes dilated into saucers of pure terror. “Where... where did you get that? There are no cameras in the bridal suites! That’s illegal! That’s an invasion of privacy!”
“The St. Regis Hotel security infrastructure was overhauled last month,” Victoria Cross stated smoothly from beside the piano. “By a private contractor owned by Vance Telecom. All hallway and common-area vestibules within VIP hospitality suites feature wide-angle administrative security feeds. Strictly for asset protection, of course.”
On the screen, the timestamp read: **6:42 PM**.
The video played with crystalline clarity.
The screen showed the sitting room of the bridal suite. I was sitting on the sofa, visibly exhausted, rubbing my swollen belly. Chloe was standing in front of the mirror, adjusting her veil.
On the screen, Chloe turned around, her face twisted in that familiar sneer. She spoke—and through the ballroom’s state-of-the-art surround sound, the audio came through with horrifying fidelity.
*“Look at you,”* Chloe’s recorded voice echoed through the ballroom, dripping with disgust. *“Sitting there like a beached whale. You’re going to ruin all the wedding photos, Vivienne. Why did Daniel even let you come tonight? Mom said your belly makes the whole family look low-class.”*
A collective gasp swept through the two hundred guests. Several of Chloe’s bridesmaids covered their mouths in horror.
On the screen, my past self closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and replied quietly: *“I’m here to support Daniel, Chloe. I’ll sit in the back. I won't ruin your photos.”*
*“You ruin everything just by existing,”* Chloe’s voice sneered on the recording.
Then, the footage showed something that made Eleanor Sterling’s jaw drop open in absolute disbelief.
Chloe walked over to the dressing table. She picked up the five-carat sapphire ring.
She didn't wash her hands. She didn't drop it into a sink.
She slipped the ring into the inside lining of her own white satin vanity clutch—the small, beaded bag currently hanging from the wrist of her chief bridesmaid, Amanda.
Then, on the video, Chloe picked up her phone, dialed a number, and put it on speaker.
Eleanor’s voice blasted through the ballroom speakers, loud and unmistakable:
*“Did you hide it?”* Eleanor had asked on the phone.
*“Yeah, it’s in my bag,”* Chloe had answered on the screen, giggling.
*“Good,”* Eleanor’s voice had instructed, clear as crystal. *“When we get down to the ballroom, right before the toasts, scream that it’s missing. Point at Vivienne. Daniel already agreed to take her purse if we make enough noise. Once we catch her with a stolen heirloom in public, the family court judge will grant Daniel full custody of the baby without a dime of spousal support. We aren't letting some trailer-park nobody walk away with a piece of the Sterling estate.”*
*“I can't wait to see her face,”* Chloe had laughed.
The video froze.
The timestamp burned in bright white numbers across the screen: **6:46 PM**.
The silence in the grand ballroom was so profound that you could hear the hum of the air conditioning vents sixty feet above our heads.
Amanda, the chief bridesmaid, looked down at the white beaded clutch in her hands as if it had transformed into a live rattlesnake. With a shriek of pure disgust, she dropped the bag onto the floor and scrambled backward, tears streaming down her face. “I didn't know! Chloe, I swear to God I didn't know you did that!”
The beaded clutch hit the marble.
It popped open.
And out rolled the five-carat heirloom sapphire ring, clattering against the stone until it came to rest against the toe of my father’s polished Italian leather shoe.
Marcus Vance looked down at the ring.
He didn't touch it. He looked at it as if it were a piece of rotting garbage.
Then, he slowly turned his gaze back to Eleanor Sterling.
Eleanor was shaking so violently she couldn't stand. She clutched the leg of a banquet table, her breath coming in ragged, wheezing gasps. “I... it was... it was a joke. It was just a joke to test her loyalty!”
“A criminal conspiracy,” Victoria Cross corrected, her voice cutting through Eleanor’s pathetic excuses like a scalpel. “Conspiracy to commit grand larceny, filing a false police report, premeditated defamation of character, intentional infliction of emotional distress, and felony assault on an eight-month-pregnant woman.”
Victoria pulled a phone from her blazer pocket. “The United States Attorney for the Southern District of New York and the Manhattan District Attorney have already received the uncompressed video files and the digital audio transcripts. Along with the complete financial audits of the Sterling Group’s offshore tax shelters.”
At the mention of offshore tax shelters, Richard Sterling let out a high-pitched, choked sob and collapsed completely onto his stomach, burying his face in the carpet.
Chloe dropped to her knees, clawing at her own wedding dress, sobbing hysterically. “No! No! Please! It was Mom’s idea! Mom told me to do it! Danny knew about it! Danny agreed!”
Daniel whipped his head around, his eyes wild with terror. “You lying bitch! I didn't know you hid the ring! I didn't know about the framing!”
“You knew we were going to get rid of her!” Chloe shrieked back, her mascara running in black rivers down her cheeks. “You told us last week you were sick of her! You said once the baby was born, you were going to move her to an apartment in Queens and keep the child for the Sterling trust!”
The guests were backing away toward the walls, muttering in disgust and horror.
Senator Hayes stepped out from his table, his face dark with fury. “Richard, you and your family are utterly vile. Don't you ever step foot in my club again. Don't you ever call my office.”
One by one, the wealthy, powerful guests the Sterlings had spent their entire lives trying to impress began to turn their backs.
Daniel crawled on his hands and knees toward me. He didn't care about the broken glass, didn't care about the macaron cream smearing across his designer trousers. He crawled across the marble until he was inches from the hem of my father’s overcoat.
“Vivienne,” Daniel wept, reaching up with trembling, stained hands. “Vivienne, please. Look at me. I’m the father of your baby. We can leave! We can walk out of here right now! I’ll cut my mother off! I’ll never speak to Chloe again! I swear to God, I’ll spend the rest of my life making this up to you! Don't destroy me, Viv. Please, don't destroy your husband!”
I looked down at the man I had loved.
I looked for the tenderness, the charm, the quiet laughter that had made me believe, three years ago, that he was different from the sharks who circled my father’s empire.
There was nothing there.
Just an empty shell of vanity, greed, and cowardice.
“You aren't my husband, Daniel,” I said.
My voice didn't waver.
“You’re just a mistake I’m about to correct.”
A sharp, searing pain tore through my pelvis.
I gasped, my hand flying to my lower stomach. My knees buckled beneath the weight of my father’s coat.
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“Vivienne!” my father shouted, dropping his cane and catching me in his arms before I could hit the floor.
***
