Chapter 3 - The Portfolio Opens
Sloane looked from Preston’s terrified face to the leather folder in Mason’s hand, completely bewildered. "Preston... what is that? Who is this man?"
Preston couldn't speak. His tongue felt thick in his mouth, his shallow breathing echoing in his own ears as his pristine military-like posture collapsed into a defeated slump.
Mason unzipped the dark leather portfolio with a slow, deliberate sound that carried through the silent ballroom. He pulled out a stack of financial documents bearing red government stamps and handed them directly to Preston.
"Six months ago, Preston," Mason spoke, his voice deep, authoritative, and echoing off the crystal chandeliers, "you believed you were clever enough to embezzle forty million dollars from the Hartwell Family Charitable Trust to fund your private offshore accounts in the Cayman Islands."
Gasps erupted across the room. Several high-society women covered their mouths in disbelief, while news reporters at the back of the room began snapping photographs furiously.
"You also transferred five million of those stolen funds into a shell company registered under the name of Miss Sloane Avery," Mason continued, casting a cold, dismissive glance at Sloane.
Sloane gasped, her hand shaking so violently that her champagne glass slipped from her fingers, smashing into a hundred pieces on the floor. Champagne splashed over her satin dress as she stumbled back.
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"W-What?!" Sloane shrieked, her voice turning high and hysterical. "That's a lie! Preston told me that money was his performance bonus!"
"It was never his," Eleanor said calmly, standing up from her chair for the first time. Her black gown draped flawlessly over her frame as she looked down at Sloane with absolute, icy dominance. "Every asset Preston owns—his apartment, his car, his firm, and even the clothes on his back—belongs to the Hartwell estate."
