Chapter 2 - The Seven-Year Audit of a Liar
The silence in the ballroom was absolute, save for the distant hum of the estate’s air conditioning units. Every eye was locked on my phone screen as I pressed play. High-definition video illuminated the dark corners of the catering kitchen, capturing Celeste’s face in sharp, undeniable clarity as she unscrewed the amber vial and emptied its toxic contents into the dessert.
Gasps rippled through the crowd like a wave. Several society matrons clutched their pearls, while prominent business executives whispered frantically among themselves.
My father stared at the screen, his face turning an alarming shade of gray. The color drained from his cheeks as he watched the woman he intended to marry casually plot his execution. He reached out to grab the edge of the table to steady himself, his lips parting in mute horror.
"No... no, that's a deepfake! AI can generate anything nowadays!" Celeste shrieked, lunging forward to swat the phone from my hand.
Before she could touch me, two burly private security guards—whom I had stationed near the service doors precisely for this moment—stepped forward, gently but firmly pinning her arms behind her back.
"Keep her right there," I said, sliding my phone back into my blazer pocket. I turned my attention back to my father, whose world was visibly collapsing around him. "You thought she loved you, Dad. You thought her sudden appearance in your life was a romantic fairy tale. But people like Celeste don't fall in love with billionaires; they hunt them."
Celeste struggled against the guards, her pristine composure completely shattered, revealing a mask of pure, venomous hatred. "You arrogant little bitch!" she screamed, thrashing against the security staff. "You ruined everything! He was going to sign the estate over to me at midnight!"
"I know," I replied smoothly. "And that brings us to chapter two of your little downfall."
Before returning to work for the Ashford Foundation, I had spent seven years as a ruthless corporate fraud attorney on Wall Street. I didn't just catch people in lies; I unraveled entire criminal syndicates. When Celeste first entered our lives, I hadn't just suspected her motives—I had secretly launched a full forensic investigation into her background.
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I signaled toward the side entrance of the ballroom. The heavy doors opened again, and this time, Detective Miller of the state cybercrimes division walked in, accompanied by two uniformed officers carrying heavy stacks of manila folders.
"Celeste Vaughn, alias Claire Vance," Detective Miller announced, flashing a federal badge toward the stunned crowd. "You are under arrest for attempted murder, corporate identity theft, and wire fraud."
