Chapter 4: Checkmate
The auction began shortly after Victoria fled to the restrooms in tears. Arthur Sinclair, Victoria’s father, took the stage to commence the bidding. He was a distinguished, silver-haired man, but tonight he was sweating profusely. He needed this auction to succeed; he had secretly been skimming from the charity fund to cover his failing investments.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Arthur announced, trying to keep his voice steady. "Our prime lot tonight is the Sinclair Estate in the Hamptons. Bidding starts at ten million dollars."
Before a single paddle could be raised, Evelyn Hayes stood up. The room held its breath.
"I bid fifty million," Evelyn said clearly.
Arthur paled. "F-fifty million. Do I hear fifty-one?"
Silence. No one dared bid against Evelyn Hayes.
"Sold," Arthur croaked, bringing the gavel down.
Evelyn didn't sit down. She walked slowly toward the stage. "Actually, Arthur, I'm not just buying your summer home. I'm calling in your debts."
Victoria, having just returned to the ballroom in a borrowed dress, froze in the doorway.
Evelyn turned to the crowd, pulling a sleek tablet from Thorne. With a single tap, she mirrored the tablet's screen to the massive projector behind the stage. Detailed bank statements, offshore accounts, and forged loan documents filled the screen.
"Arthur Sinclair has been defrauding this charity, and Apex Financial, for seven years," Evelyn’s voice boomed over the microphone. "As the new majority shareholder of Apex Financial, I am foreclosing on all Sinclair assets. The penthouse, the cars, the bank accounts. As of this moment, the Sinclair family is bankrupt."
Pandemonium erupted. Investors began shouting. High society patrons backed away from Arthur and Victoria as if they were contagious.
Victoria rushed the stage, tears streaming down her face. "You ruined us! You monster! Because of a slap?!"
May you like
Evelyn looked down at the weeping girl. "No, Victoria. The slap was just bad manners. I ruined you because your family is a parasite on this city, stealing from charities to fund your designer dresses. I just accelerated the inevitable."
The wail of police sirens could be heard echoing up from the street below. Thorne had sent the dossier to the FBI hours ago. The checkmate was absolute.
