Chapter 4 - The VIP Table
The Grand Ballroom of the Palace Hotel was a sea of glittering crystal chandeliers, white-gloved waiters carrying silver trays of caviar, and five hundred of the most powerful people in global commerce.
Sitting at the center VIP table—directly beneath the main stage—was Weston Prescott.
He was beaming, his cheeks flushed with expensive scotch and unearned arrogance. Beside him sat Victoria Vance, her emerald dress drawing looks from several surrounding venture capitalists, while Claudia Prescott sat on his right, her newly purchased diamond tiara glittering under the overhead spotlights.
"To the future of Prescott Global," Weston toasted, clinking his glass against Victoria's. "Tonight, everything changes. Once the Chairwoman signs the capital transfer, we expand into the European logistics corridor by Q3."
"I told you, darling," Victoria purred, leaning close to his ear and flashing a smug smile at the surrounding investors. "All it took was the right woman by your side. Someone who knows how to navigate these rooms, not someone who spends her afternoon scrubbing rust off your kitchen sinks."
Claudia let out a sharp, aristocratic laugh. "Don't remind me of that pathetic girl, Victoria. I had to leave the house early just to get the smell of her cooking out of my hair. Weston, you must have your lawyers draft the separation papers by Monday morning. I refuse to let her live in our Pacific Heights home for another week."
"Don't worry, Mother," Weston said, taking another heavy gulp of scotch. "Elowen knows her place. She's probably sitting in the kitchen right now crying into her apron. She has nowhere else to go. She doesn't have a single relative, a single asset, or a single friend who can help her."
Sitting across the table from them was Marcus Sterling—the seventy-year-old chairman of the International Banking Syndicate, and the host of the Meridian Heritage Gala.
Marcus looked at Weston over the rim of his glasses, his expression cold and unimpressed. "You seem remarkably confident, Mr. Prescott. You speak as if you have already met Chairwoman Vance-Caldwell."
"I haven't met her personally yet, Mr. Sterling," Weston said smoothly, flashing his practiced corporate smile. "But my vice president, Miss Vance, has been in constant correspondence with her private office in Zurich. The Chairwoman understands that Prescott Global is the premier vehicle for her capital in North America."
Marcus Sterling let out a quiet, dry cough that sounded suspiciously like pity. "Is that so? Because in my forty years of managing sovereign equity, I have found Chairwoman Vance-Caldwell to be an exceptionally discerning individual. She does not tolerate arrogance, she detests incompetence, and above all... she destroys people who take credit for her work."
Victoria’s smile faltered slightly. "Mr. Sterling, I assure you, my communications with her chief of staff, Mr. Arthur Pendelton, have been exceptionally warm—"
"Mr. Pendelton does not give warm communications, Miss Vance," Marcus interrupted sharply. "He gives instructions."
Before Victoria could reply, the heavy brass chime sounded across the ballroom, signaling that the formal presentations were about to begin.
The lights in the grand hall dimmed slowly, leaving only two bright, dramatic spotlights focused on the top of the sweeping marble grand staircase at the rear of the ballroom.
Marcus Sterling stood up from the VIP table, walked up to the stage microphone, and adjusted his glasses.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Marcus’s voice boomed across the silent room, echoing through the speakers. "Welcome to the Annual Meridian Heritage Gala. Tonight, we gather to honor those who shape the financial architecture of our world."
Weston leaned over to Victoria, whispering loudly, "Get the signing pen ready. This is it."
"Before we announce our primary grant recipients," Marcus continued, his voice taking on a tone of profound, absolute reverence, "it is my distinct honor to introduce the woman who has anonymously funded fifty percent of tonight’s philanthropic initiatives, and whose firm, Vance-Caldwell Global Equity, holds the majority institutional debt of seventeen companies in this room tonight."
May you like
Weston straightened his tuxedo jacket, his heart pounding with raw, greedy anticipation. "Here she comes," he muttered under his breath. "The mysterious Chairwoman."
"Please join me in welcoming," Marcus announced, turning toward the top of the grand staircase, "Chairwoman Elowen Vance-Caldwell!"
