Chapter 4 - The Dinner Party at the Drake Hotel
The Grand Ballroom of the Drake Hotel was a glittering monument to old Chicago wealth. Crystal chandeliers rained golden light down over hundreds of high-society figures, politicians, and corporate executives sipping champagne beneath vaulted ceilings.
It was the annual charity gala for the Chicago Children’s Hospital—an event Richard had spent three months trying to secure a VIP table for, desperate to rub shoulders with the city's elite.
And tonight, he had managed it.
Richard stood near the edge of the dais in a pristine tuxedo, holding a flute of vintage champagne, laughing smoothly at a joke made by the senior managing partner of his law firm. Standing right beside him, draped in a backless crimson silk gown that turned every head in the room, was Elena Romano.
She looked radiant, confident, and completely untouchable.
“I told you, darling,” Elena murmured, resting a manicured hand against Richard’s lapel. “Victor is completely distracted by his shipping ports this weekend. He has no idea we’re even here.”
Richard puffed out his chest, looking around the room with the smug satisfaction of a man who believed he had outsmarted the entire city. “Victor Romano is a relic of the past, El. Men like him don't understand the modern corporate landscape. In six months, once my divorce from Martha is finalized, we’ll be moving to London.”
“Is that so?” a smooth, chillingly calm voice asked from directly behind them.
Richard froze.
He turned around, his champagne flute sloshing dangerously over the rim.
Standing there was Victor Romano.
Victor was flanked by two massive security guards in immaculate suits, but his expression wasn't angry. It was relaxed. Almost amused.
“V-Victor,” Richard stammered, his face instantly draining of all color, the blood rushing out of his cheeks until he looked like a corpse in a tuxedo. “I—I can explain. This isn't what it looks like—”
“Isn't it?” Victor interrupted mildly. He took a slow sip of his own scotch, his dark eyes fixed on Elena, who had gone completely rigid, her crimson dress suddenly looking like a shroud. “My wife in the arms of another man at the city’s most public event. I’d say it looks remarkably clear, Richard.”
Before Richard could formulate another terrified excuse, a soft, polite cough drew attention from the steps leading up to the dais.
Everyone in the immediate vicinity turned.
Stepping up onto the raised platform was Martha Ellison.
She wasn't wearing her standard work blouse or a faded cardigan. She wore a stunning, emerald-green velvet evening gown that hugged her figure with effortless elegance, a diamond tennis bracelet glittering against her wrist—a piece purchased from the liquidation of Richard’s secret offshore account three days prior.
Her hair was swept up into a sophisticated chignon, and her expression was the very definition of serene, untouchable power.
Richard stared at her as if he were seeing a ghost. “Martha? What... what are you doing here? How did you get a ticket to this event?”
Martha didn't look at Richard. She walked straight past him, her heels clicking softly against the marble floor, and stood directly beside Victor Romano, lightly resting her hand on the sleeve of his wool coat.
Victor looked down at her with a genuine, approving smile and handed her a glass of sparkling water.
“Thank you, Victor,” Martha said smoothly, her voice carrying clearly across the quieted circle of elites.
Richard’s jaw dropped so low his teeth practically rattled. “What... what is going on here? Have you lost your mind? Why are you standing with him? Security! Someone get security—!”
“There’s no need for security, Mr. Ellison,” a crisp, professional voice announced from the edge of the crowd.
Arthur Vance stepped forward through the parting crowd, holding a thick manila envelope stamped with federal seals and corporate letterheads. He walked right up to Richard and dropped the heavy envelope squarely into the lawyer’s trembling hands.
“What is this?” Richard breathed, his voice cracking with rising panic.
“That,” Arthur said brightly, “is notice of your immediate suspension from your law firm pending an internal investigation for corporate embezzlement and tax evasion. It is also a complete asset freeze on all personal accounts, checking balances, and hidden offshore trusts.”
Richard stared at the papers, his eyes darting frantically across the legal jargon. “No—that’s impossible! Those accounts are protected! I have millions tucked away—!”
“You had millions tucked away,” Martha corrected softly, taking a slow sip of her sparkling water and finally turning her hazel eyes directly onto her husband. “Until yesterday afternoon, when I signed the transfer orders moving every single cent into a private trust under my sole name. Along with the townhouse in Naperville. And your leased Audi.”
Silence descended over the entire section of the ballroom. Dozens of high-society guests stopped whispering, their eyes locked on the dramatic scene unfolding before them.
Elena stared at Richard in absolute horror, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “What is she talking about, Richard? You said you were wealthy! You said you were leaving her for me!”
Richard spun around, grabbing Elena by the shoulders, his face twisted in sheer, desperate panic. “Elena, listen to me, I can fix this, I have connections—!”
“You don't have anything, Richard,” Victor Romano said quietly, stepping forward and placing a heavy, crushing hand on Richard’s shoulder. “Except a very long tax audit and a very expensive walk home in the rain. Come along, Elena. Our divorce lawyers are waiting in the VIP lounge downstairs, and I want to make sure you sign away your rights before midnight.”
As Victor’s guards grabbed Richard’s arms and began dragging him backward through the stunned, murmuring crowd, Richard let out one pathetic, desperate cry.
“Martha! Please! We’ve been married for seven years! You can’t do this to me!”
Martha didn't even blink. She watched her husband get escorted out of the grand ballroom in absolute disgrace, feeling not an ounce of sorrow, only the clean, refreshing breeze of a brand-new life.
She turned her head, looking up at Victor Romano, who offered her a slow, respectful nod.
May you like
“Shall we dance, Mrs. Ellison?” Victor asked, extending his hand.
Martha smiled, placing her hand in his. “I thought you’d never ask, Mr. Romano.”
