Chapter 2: The Rats in the Trap
Chapter 2: The Rats in the Trap
Thirty minutes passed.
The initial hysteria had morphed into a suffocating, tense dread. The string quartet had packed their instruments. The catering staff, most of whom were secretly on my payroll, stood quietly out of the way.
The billionaires, socialites, and politicians were corralled into the center of the gallery. I sat on a velvet antique settee, a damp cloth pressed gently against the bruise forming under my eye. It hurt, but it was a necessary sacrifice. It was the bait he had taken so willingly.
“Mara, please.”
I looked up. Chloe Wentworth, a woman who had spent the last three years spreading vicious rumors about my family, was standing at the edge of the crowd. Her mascara was running.
“I didn't see anything,” she pleaded, her voice cracking. “I swear. I was looking at the diamond exhibit. Just let me go home.”
“You were looking right at me, Chloe,” I said softly. “You watched him hit me. You smiled.”
She recoiled as if physically struck.
“That’s the problem with this room,” I announced, standing up. “You all believe that turning a blind eye is a passive act. It’s not. It’s an endorsement.”
Grant was currently sitting in a wooden chair, flanked by two of my guards. His platinum cufflinks were scuffed. He glared at me with pure venom.
“My father will destroy you for this, Mara,” Grant spat. “He’ll buy this museum, he’ll buy your company, and he’ll bury you.”
I offered a cold smile. “Your father is exactly why we are all here tonight.”
I snapped my fingers.
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The massive digital projection screens behind the auction block flickered to life. Instead of displaying classical paintings or rare artifacts, the screens illuminated the room with a sprawling, complex web of financial documents, bank transfers, and offshore accounts.
The collective gasp from the elite crowd was deafening.
