Chapter 4 - THE EXPULSION
Vivian dropped her champagne glass. It shattered against the polished marble, splattering sparkling wine across the hem of her designer gown.
"You can't do this!" Vivian screamed, her voice cracking into a shrill panic. "This is our gala! These are our guests!"
"Not anymore," Eleanor said. She stepped past Vivian, walked up to the main podium, and picked up the microphone that I had dropped earlier.
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," Eleanor’s voice boomed through the speakers. "I apologize for the disruption to your evening. The Mercer Foundation has officially been dissolved. Vance Global Logistics will honor all charitable pledges made tonight by our guests. However, the hospitality of this hall is now under my management."
She turned her head to look at Ethan and Vivian.
"Security," Eleanor said into the microphone. "Please escort Mr. Ethan Mercer and Mrs. Vivian Mercer out of the building. They are no longer permitted on Vance Global properties."
The two security guards who had previously stood idle now moved with terrifying efficiency. They stepped on either side of Ethan, grasping his arms firmly behind his back.
"Get your hands off me!" Ethan yelled, struggling against the guards' grip. "Nora! Look at me! Talk to me! We're married! You can't let your mother do this to us!"
"We were married, Ethan," I said softly, standing beside my mother. "Tomorrow morning, Arthur will serve you with divorce papers. I suggest you sign them quietly."
"Nora!" he screamed as the guards began dragging him toward the back exit. "Nora, please!"
Vivian tried to maintain her composure, trying to smooth down her hair, but her hands were trembling so badly she could barely hold her purse. "You little snake," she hissed at me as the second pair of guards approached her. "You planned this! You let me believe you were nothing!"
"I didn't plan the slap, Vivian," I replied, watching her face collapse in real-time. "You and your son built that trap all by yourselves. I just stopped holding the door open for you."
As Vivian was led out through the side doors under the blinding flashes of guest smartphone cameras, the entire ballroom seemed to exhale at once.
The drama was far from over. Everyone in that room knew that by morning, the video of the Mercer family downfall would be the lead story across every financial and tabloid outlet in the country.
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Eleanor set the microphone back on the stand, turned to Arthur, and whispered a few brief instructions. Then she took my hand—her grip warm, solid, and unwavering.
"Come, Nora," she said softly. "Let's go home. You've spent three years in the dirt. It's time to wash it off."
