Chapter 7 - The Confrontation
When Martha finally noticed the silence in the room and turned to look, the glass of champagne slipped from her fingers, shattering on the polished parquet floor. The color drained from her face so rapidly I thought she might faint.
I didn't look broken. I didn't look humiliated. I looked like I owned the room.
Nick and I glided across the floor, parting the sea of wealthy socialites with sheer presence. We stopped right in front of Martha’s circle. Mrs. Harrington looked appalled, her hand fluttering to her pearls, while Chloe scowled deeply.
"What are you doing here?" Martha hissed, her polite facade cracking instantly. "Security! Someone call security, they are trespassing!"
"Calm down, Mom," Nick said, his voice carrying effortlessly over the quiet room. "We just came to clear up a few misunderstandings. We wouldn't want people believing lies, would we?"
Chloe stepped forward, crossing her arms. "You have a lot of nerve showing up here after what you did to your mother at your wedding. And nice haircut," she sneered, looking at my pixie cut. "Did you lose a bet?"
I smiled, slow and deliberate. "Actually, Chloe, your mother’s best friend here decided to play barber at my wedding. But I think it’s an improvement. It keeps the dead weight off my shoulders. Speaking of dead weight..."
Nick pulled the silver USB drive from my clutch and held it up so the light caught it. He turned his attention directly to Mr. Arthur Harrington, a stern, no-nonsense businessman who was standing quietly behind his wife.
"Mr. Harrington," Nick said respectfully. "I know my mother has been whispering in your wife’s ear, telling tall tales about my wife’s character to cover up her own psychotic behavior. But I’m not here to talk about family drama. I’m here to talk about your money."
The room grew so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Martha lunged for the USB drive, her eyes wide with terror, but Nick easily sidestepped her.
"Nick, don't do this," Martha begged, her voice dropping to a frantic whisper. "Please, we can talk about this at home. I'm your mother!"
"You lost the right to call yourself that the moment you put scissors to my wife's head," Nick replied coldly. He handed the drive to Mr. Harrington. "Arthur, that drive contains verified bank records, wire transfers, and internal communications from the Harrington Family Foundation over the last four years. I suggest you have your forensic accountants look at the 'consulting fees' paid to a shell company in the Cayman Islands. A company registered under my mother’s maiden name."
Mrs. Harrington gasped, turning to Martha. "Martha? What is he talking about?"
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"It's a lie!" Martha shrieked, backing away like a cornered animal. "They fabricated it! They're trying to frame me because they hate me!"
"It also contains the records of how she emptied my trust fund to buy that diamond necklace you're currently admiring on her neck, Mrs. Harrington," Nick added ruthlessly.
