Chapter 8 - The Boardroom Ambush
The grand ballroom of the Blake estate descended into total, breathless pandemonium.
Champagne flutes shattered on the marble floor. Socialites gasped, clutching their pearl necklaces, while the bank of press photographers rushed toward the center aisle, lenses flashing relentlessly.
Eleanor Blake stood frozen on the raised dais. For a fraction of a second, pure, unadulterated shock cracked through her porcelain composure. Her knuckles whitened against the microphone stand, but within seconds, her sociopathic instinct took over.
"Security!" Eleanor commanded into the mic, her voice shrill and commanding. "Viktor, remove these trespassers! My daughter-in-law is currently under an emergency court-ordered psychiatric hold! She is armed and dangerous!"
Viktor Cross and six private security guards pushed through the crowd, reaching inside their jackets.
"Federal Marshals!" a booming voice barked from behind us. Special Agent Patrick O'Donnell stepped forward, holding aloft his gold federal badge and a pristine stack of warrants. "Any member of private security who draws a weapon will be charged with federal obstruction of justice and immediately neutralized! Stand down!"
Cross froze. His eyes darted from Eleanor to the federal agents, reading the writing on the wall. He slowly raised his empty hands and stepped back into the crowd.
Eleanor’s face drained of all color.
I led Claire down the central aisle, our footsteps echoing against the vaulted ceiling. The assembled billionaires, senators, and board members parted like the Red Sea, staring in morbid fascination at the bruises clearly visible above Claire’s emerald gown and the heavy bandages wrapped around her hands.
"You look surprised to see us, Eleanor," Claire said, her voice clear, melodious, and carrying through the silent room. "Did you think the poison Dr. Croft injected into my veins was going to finish the job?"
Whispers exploded through the room like wildfire.
"Lies!" Eleanor shrieked, ditching the microphone and descending the dais steps, her regal facade crumbling into jagged fury. "You are an unhinged, gold-digging interloper trying to bring down this family! The child is dead! You killed it yourself to frame me!"
"The baby is alive, Mother," I said, stepping between Claire and Eleanor. "And he is listening to his grandmother unravel in front of the entire world."
Marcus Vance walked toward the grand media presentation screen at the rear of the stage. He plugged his tablet into the master AV console.
Instantly, the promotional video showcasing Blake Global’s corporate philanthropy went black.
A second later, the massive forty-foot display illuminated with crystal-clear high-definition video taken from Dr. Croft’s Michigan Avenue office: the financial ledgers detailing two million dollars in murder-for-hire payments, followed by the high-resolution toxicology lab report.
Then, the audio recording blasted through the ballroom’s state-of-the-art sound system:
*“Make sure the dose is lethal to the fetus, Harrison. I cannot afford an invalid child surviving to trigger the trust clause...”*
The entire room gasped in unified horror. Several board members stood up in disgust, backing away from Eleanor as if she were carrying the plague.
"Turn it off!" Eleanor screamed, lunging toward the AV console, but Agent O'Donnell blocked her path. "Harrison, you traitor! I made you! I paid for your lifestyle!"
"You threatened to ruin me, Eleanor!" Croft cried out from behind the marshals, his broken jaw making his voice a garbled, pathetic wail. "She made me do it! She gave me the synthetic prostaglandin! She held the girl down while I tied her hands!"
The cameras didn't stop firing. Reporters were already furiously typing on their phones, broadcasting live feeds to national news networks across the country.
Eleanor looked around wildly, realizing the walls were caving in. But then her eyes narrowed, locking onto me with the vicious cunning of a cornered viper.
"It doesn't matter," she hissed, her chest heaving beneath her silver dress. "Even if you destroy me, Ethan, you will never control Blake Global. The child she's carrying isn't yours!"
The room fell into another stunned silence.
Eleanor pointed a trembling, manicured finger at Claire. "I ran a private DNA screen three weeks ago from prenatal blood samples! The baby is a bastard! He belongs to some nobody from her old neighborhood! The Trust codicil requires a legitimate Blake heir! You inherit nothing!"
I looked at my mother, feeling nothing but a profound, pitying disgust.
"You really think you're the only one who can run tests, Eleanor?" I asked softly.
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The side doors of the ballroom opened, and Dr. Sarah Lin, Chief of Fetal Medicine at Northwestern Memorial Hospital, walked in, flanked by two armed federal officers, carrying a sealed, blue medical courier pouch.
***
