Chapter 5 - The Mask of Royalty
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As I stepped back into the grand lobby, Madison’s voice echoed off the high ceilings. She was showing off to her bridesmaids, her voice dripping with artificial condescension.
“There she is!” Madison announced loudly, pointing at me as I approached the group. “The jealous sister returns! Did you go outside to cry in the rain, Claire?”
A few of the guests gave nervous, uncomfortable laughs, sensing the rising toxicity in the room.
My father took a slow sip of his bourbon and shook his head, looking at the surrounding crowd. “Claire has always struggled whenever the spotlight isn't directly focused on her. She just can't stand seeing her sister happy.”
It was a narrative he had spun my entire life. Whenever I achieved something—graduating top of my class, launching my firm, buying my first home—it was downplayed. Whenever Madison wanted something, it was treated as a fundamental human right.
Trevor detached himself from the crowd and strolled over to me, hands in his tuxedo pockets. He lowered his voice, offering a patronizing smirk.
“Look, Claire, just let Madison have the car,” Trevor said quietly. “Your dad told me you make millions running your little consulting gig. You can just go buy another one tomorrow.”
I looked Trevor dead in the eye. “I don't make millions, Trevor.”
He blinked, his arrogant smile wavering slightly. “What?”
“I manage millions,” I corrected smoothly. “There is a massive legal and financial difference between holding capital and managing it. You would know that if you had ever run a real business instead of relying on my father’s handouts.”
His face flushed crimson.
Madison trotted over, clutching Trevor’s arm. “Trevor, stop talking to her. Dad said Claire practically owns the bank that funded your restaurant venture anyway.”
“No,” I said, offering a serene, dangerous smile. “I don't own the bank. But I know exactly which assets the bank is about to seize.”
My father heard the comment from a few feet away. For the very first time that night, the smug composure on his face twitched.
Suddenly, my phone buzzed in my hand.
I checked the screen. It was a text from Daniel:
NOTICES FORMALLY DELIVERED TO COMMERCIAL LOAN OFFICER AND MORTGAGE LENDER. CREDIT FACILITY OFFICIALLY SUSPENDED PENDING FORENSIC REVIEW.
A second notification flashed from the Mercedes connected app:
REMOTE ENGINE IMMOBILIZER SUCCESSFULLY ACTIVATED. VEHICLE ACCESS RESTRICTED.
I tucked my phone away just as my father stepped toward me, his brow furrowed in sudden irritation.
“What did you just say to Trevor?” Dad demanded quietly. “What did you do, Claire?”
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“Nothing that you didn't explicitly authorize in writing,” I replied softly.
His jaw tightened. He opened his mouth to berate me further, but before he could speak a single word, his own phone began to ring violently in his pocket.
