Part 2: The Liquidation of the Living
The red and blue emergency lights from Fifth Avenue flashed against the high arched windows of the Plaza, turning the white ballroom into a sea of crimson shadows.
Thomas was pinned against a marble pillar, his custom silk tuxedo jacket torn at the shoulder as a marshal clicked the steel restraints around his wrists.
— You can't do this! Thomas bellowed, his face red, his eyes bulging with a feral rage. I didn't know anything about twenty years ago! I’m innocent! Sarah, please! We loved each other!
I walked over to him, the wet fabric of my dress heavy against my ankles, my cane catching the rhythmic glare of the police lights.
— You didn't love me, Thomas, I said, my voice completely devoid of anger. You loved the idea of a penniless orphan you could control. You loved the idea of having someone in your house who would never ask where the money came from.
Eleanor Miller was being led out by two female officers, her diamond necklace confiscated as evidence, her screams echoing down the grand hallway of the hotel.
— You’re a monster! Eleanor shrieked back at me. A gutter rat playing in a palace!
I turned to Marcus, ignoring her fading voice.
— Begin the immediate seizure of the Miller estate in Greenwich, I ordered. Evict the staff by noon tomorrow. Change the locks on the corporate headquarters in Manhattan, and freeze the maritime vessels currently sitting in the Boston harbor.
— It’s already done, Ms. Vance, Marcus replied, adjusting his spectacles. The Vanguard board of directors has just appointed you as the sole receiver of all Miller assets. Their name is being wiped from the building facade as we speak.
Richard Miller was carried out on a medical gurney, his heart failing under the crushing weight of his own exposed history.
The guests who had spent the evening whispering and mocking my simple background were now scrambling to get out of the ballroom, their faces averted, terrified that a single look from Victoria Vance would dismantle their own family fortunes.
Thomas looked down at the $10,000 check his mother had thrown at my feet, which was now soaked in champagne and trodden over by police boots.
— You planned this from the very beginning, he whispered, his confidence completely dead.
May you like
— I didn't plan your cruelty, Thomas, I said softly. You gave me that as a gift tonight. I simply chose the perfect venue to return it.
As the marshals pushed him through the exit, the heavy oak doors finally closed, leaving me alone in the wreckage of the ballroom.
