Chapter 5 - The First DecreeThe air in the lobby was so thick with tension you could have cut it with a scalpel.
Arthur’s oily smile faltered, twitching at the corner of his mouth as he realized no amount of smooth corporate PR could talk his way out of this trap. The federal audit report was already propagating across financial news terminals from Wall Street to London.
"Charlotte, let's not be hasty," Arthur lowered his voice, stepping forward with his hands raised in a placating gesture. "Family matters shouldn't be aired out in public. We can go up to the penthouse suite, sit down with our attorneys, and work out a... a comfortable arrangement. You can have your allowance restored, a nice apartment, maybe even a seat on the board—"
"A seat on the board?" I interrupted, my voice ringing out clearly across the silent lobby. I didn't raise my voice, yet every single person in the room strained to catch every syllable. "Arthur, you don't even have a chair in this building anymore."
I turned my gaze away from him and looked toward the corner of the lobby where the head of hotel operations stood trembling in his tailored suit.
"Mr. Henderson," I called out.
The middle-aged man flinched, stepping forward immediately. "Yes, Ms. Vale?"
"Lock all executive accounts associated with Arthur Sterling and Victoria Vance," I ordered crisply. "Revoke their keycard access to every Solmere property worldwide. And have their personal belongings in the penthouse packed into cardboard boxes and left on the back loading dock by midnight."
"Right away, Ms. Vale," Henderson replied, his posture snapping into rigid obedience. Twenty-two years of working under my mother had taught him one absolute law: when a true Vale gave an order, you executed it without hesitation.
"You can't do that!" Victoria shrieked, breaking through her shock, her face contorting with ugly rage. She lunged toward me, her fingernails clawing the air. "You filthy little bitch! This hotel belongs to my father! You're nothing! You're just a crazy orphan who—"
BAM.
Before Victoria could take another step, two massive, silent men in dark suits stepped out from the shadows near the elevator bank—federal marshals accompanied by the hotel's chief of security. They grabbed Victoria by her arms, pinning her expensive silk-clad wrists behind her back with brutal efficiency.
"Let go of me! Do you know who my father is?!" Victoria screamed, kicking her high heels wildly against the marble floor.
"Yes, Ms. Vance," the lead marshal said flatly, pulling a pair of cold steel handcuffs from his belt. "We know exactly who your father is. And you're both being detained under federal warrants for wire fraud, identity theft, and corporate embezzlement."
Arthur stumbled backward, his legs buckling as the second marshal grabbed his shoulders, forcing him down against the gleaming surface of the reception desk to read him his rights.
The flashbulbs of hidden paparazzi cameras hiding outside the glass doors began to strobe rapidly, capturing every single humiliating second of the fall of the Solmere dynasty's usurpers.
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I stood in the center of it all, adjusting the collar of my tank top, looking down at my bleeding hands. The pain was gone, replaced by an intoxicating surge of absolute power.
This was only the beginning.
