Chapter 3 - The Audit of the Century
The news didn't take hours to spread; it took minutes.
While Daniel, Eleanor, and Chloe stood paralyzed in the penthouse suite, the phones in their pockets began to vibrate simultaneously. Then came the ringtones. Then the urgent text alerts.
Chloe pulled her diamond-encrusted phone from her clutch. Her hands shook so badly she dropped it onto the hardwood floor, the screen cracking down the center.
“My... my cards,” Chloe whispered, her voice barely audible. “They’re all declining. I tried to check our joint wedding account balance... it says zero. Negative four hundred thousand dollars.”
Eleanor’s phone buzzed continuously. She answered it with trembling fingers.
“Hello? ... Yes, this is Eleanor DuPont... What do you mean the private jet charter has been canceled? ... What do you mean our accounts are frozen? This is an outrage! I demand to speak to the bank president—!”
A sharp click echoed through the receiver. The line went dead. Eleanor slowly lowered the phone to her side, her face turning a chalky, sickly gray.
“Arthur,” Eleanor whispered, her voice cracking as she looked up at my father with eyes full of sheer terror. “Please. You can’t do this. We’ll apologize. Chloe will apologize to Vivienne. We’ll make a public statement. Just... restore the credit lines. Our investors—our social standing—we’ll be ruined by morning.”
“Your social standing was built on the backs of people you stepped on, Eleanor,” Dad said, sitting back down in his leather chair and picking up his fountain pen again. “You spent three years treating my daughter like garbage because you thought she had nothing. Well, now you’re about to experience what nothing actually feels like.”
Daniel slowly sank to his knees on the Persian rug. He looked up at me, his eyes red-rimmed and desperate, the arrogant, wealthy golden boy completely dismantled.
“Vivienne,” Daniel choked out, crawling a few inches across the floor toward my shoes. “Please. Look at me. We have a child coming. We’re husband and wife. You can’t let your father destroy our family.”
I looked down at him. There was no anger left in my chest—only a cold, clean space where pity used to reside.
“We aren't a family, Daniel,” I said quietly. “We were an inconvenience you tolerated until your mother found someone richer for you to marry. Oh, by the way... did you really think I didn't know about Chloe?”
Daniel froze. His breath hitched in his throat.
“You... you knew?” he whispered.
“I’ve known about your little arrangement with the DuPont and Whitmore families for six months,” I replied, touching the platinum wedding band on my finger. “I kept the ring on because I wanted to see how far your hypocrisy would go. I wanted to see if you had a single shred of honor left. Tonight, you answered my question.”
Marcus stepped forward, signaling to the two security guards.
“Escort them out,” Marcus instructed smoothly. “The building security will ensure they leave the premises without their vehicle keys, designer bags, or jewelry. All luxury items purchased using Vanguard credit lines remain property of the holding company.”
“No! Not my rings! Not my bag!” Chloe shrieked as the guards gently but firmly lifted her by her arms, dragging her toward the private elevator.
Eleanor screamed curses as she was hauled out beside her son, her designer heels clicking frantically against the floor until the elevator doors closed, cutting off their noise entirely.
The penthouse returned to a heavy, peaceful silence.
Dad looked up from his desk, offering me a gentle, reassuring smile. He stood up, walked over, and pulled me into a careful, protective hug, resting his hand gently against my pregnant belly.
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“Are you ready to go home, sweetheart?” Dad asked softly.
“Yes, Dad,” I murmured, burying my face against his shoulder. “Let’s go home.”
