Chapter 12 - THE VOICE IN THE BALLROOM|
"What is the meaning of this, Roman?" Camille demanded, her sweet voice suddenly laced with a sharp edge of panic. "Who invited the servant to our engagement gala?"
"Sit down, Camille," I commanded, my voice dropping its polite mask.
Naomi pressed a button on her tablet.
The high-definition surround-sound speakers of the Grand Ballroom hissed, and then Arthur Velez’s voice boomed through the hall with terrifying clarity.
"Is the digitalis working into his nightly scotch?"
The entire room went dead silent. Glasses stopped clinking. Politicians froze mid-sip.
Arthur’s face turned the color of ashes. He took a frantic step backward off the stage. "Shut that off! That's a fake! That's AI-generated sound!"
The recording continued, merciless and deafening.
"Slowly," Camille’s recorded voice replied through the speakers. "He thinks he’s just tired... By next month, his heart will simply stop. It will look like natural cardiac arrest..."
"Good," Arthur’s voice boomed. "Once the autopsy is waived by the coroner I paid off, you sign the guardianship transfer. The Sloane empire gets the shipping routes, I take twenty percent... and the children disappear to Europe."
Patrick Sloane’s bourbon glass slipped from his hand, smashing onto the marble floor.
"What..." Patrick gasped, his hawk-like eyes locking onto his daughter with utter disbelief and mounting fury. "What is this, Camille?!"
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Camille was trembling violently, her eyes darting frantically toward the exits. "Father! It’s a setup! Roman made this! He’s trying to ruin us!"
"Wait," I said into the microphone. "We aren't finished yet."
