Part 2: The Debt Collector
The ballroom descended into absolute, deafening chaos.
Women in designer gowns shrieked and scrambled backward as the federal agents stormed the aisles.
News cameras pivoted instantly, their bright flashes blinding the room as they documented the destruction of the Monroe legacy.
Arthur Monroe stumbled away from the podium, clutching his chest.
“What is this?” Arthur stammered, his voice trembling uncontrollably. “Adrian, what have you done?!”
I stood perfectly still behind the microphone.
“I didn't do anything, Arthur,” I said, my voice echoing smoothly through the massive speakers.
I pointed at the foreclosure documents glowing on the screen behind me.
“I just read the fine print.”
The lead FBI agent marched up the stairs, pulling a pair of heavy steel handcuffs from his belt.
“Arthur Monroe,” the agent barked, grabbing the billionaire by his expensive silk lapels.
“You are under arrest for massive wire fraud, corporate embezzlement, and international money laundering.”
“No!” Celeste screamed, hiking up her couture gown as she sprinted toward the stage.
She grabbed my arm, her perfectly manicured nails digging into my jacket.
“Adrian, make them stop! Call your lawyers! Pay them off!”
I looked down at her hands, then slowly looked up into her panicked, tear-filled eyes.
“I did call my lawyers, Celeste,” I replied calmly.
I gently, but firmly, peeled her fingers off my arm.
“They are the ones who handed over your father’s cooked accounting books to the Department of Justice.”
Celeste froze, her breath catching in her throat as the realization finally hit her.
This wasn't a misunderstanding.
This was a calculated, deliberate execution.
“You...” she whispered, stumbling backward. “You set us up.”
“You set yourselves up,” I corrected her, stepping down from the podium.
I walked toward her, forcing her to back up until she hit the edge of the stage.
“You thought I was just a dumb, new-money ATM,” I said, keeping my voice low so only she could hear it.
“You thought you could mock my mother, spend my money, and hide your family’s massive debt behind my reputation.”
I leaned in closer.
“But boys from the slums don't survive by being blindly trusting, Celeste.”
“We survive by knowing exactly where the rot is hidden.”
Arthur was currently being dragged in handcuffs through the center of his own gala, sobbing and begging his wealthy friends for help.
None of them moved a muscle.
In this world, poverty was a highly contagious disease, and Arthur had just become Patient Zero.
“I love you!” Celeste suddenly cried out, trying a new, desperate tactic.
She forced heavy, dramatic tears from her eyes, clasping her hands together.
“Adrian, please! We are getting married! I love you! Don't do this to my family!”
I let out a slow, dry laugh.
It was the first time I had genuinely laughed in days.
I reached into the inner pocket of my suit and pulled out a small, black USB drive.
“Do you know what this is, Celeste?” I asked, holding it up in the harsh lighting of the ballroom.
She stared at it, her fake tears stopping instantly.
“I own the security firm that installed the cameras in your father’s penthouse,” I explained.
Her face turned a sickly shade of white.
“I heard the conversation you had with your father three nights ago,” I said, my voice turning to absolute ice.
I looked at the crowd of silent, terrified elites watching us.
“I heard you plotting to have me declared mentally incompetent six months after the wedding.”
Celeste gasped, her hands flying over her mouth.
“I heard you planning to institutionalize me in a private facility,” I continued relentlessly.
“So you could seize my entire holding company and pay off your father’s criminal debts.”
The crowd erupted into shocked whispers.
The cameras flashed aggressively, capturing every second of her utter humiliation.
“You aren't a fiancée, Celeste,” I spat, dropping the USB drive onto the floor and crushing it under the heel of my Italian leather shoe.
“You are a parasite.”
“And I just cut off your host.”
Celeste dropped to her knees, sobbing wildly, her expensive gown soaking up the spilled champagne on the floor.
“My trust fund!” she wailed, suddenly remembering her only safety net. “I still have my ten million dollars! I’ll hire the best defense lawyers in the country!”
I crouched down, bringing my face level with hers.
“Check your banking app, Celeste.”
She frantically dug into her designer clutch, pulling out her gold-plated smartphone.
Her hands shook violently as she opened the screen.
I watched the exact moment her soul left her body.
“It’s... it’s gone,” she whispered, staring at a balance of absolute zero.
“The trust was contingent on our marriage,” I reminded her cheerfully.
“And since I canceled the wedding yesterday afternoon, the funds were legally reabsorbed into my corporate accounts.”
I stood up, adjusting my cuffs, completely unfazed by her devastating breakdown.
“You pushed my mother into a fountain because you thought her clothes were cheap,” I said, looking down at her ruined, stained dress.
“Let’s see how you like the aesthetic of a federal prison jumpsuit.”
May you like
I turned my back on her and walked out of the ballroom.
I left her screaming my name on the floor, surrounded by the flashing cameras of the paparazzi she used to love so much.
