Chapter 13 - THE VISUAL EVIDENCE|
Naomi tapped the tablet screen again.
The massive projector screens on either side of the ballroom—normally used for corporate presentations—switched to high-definition video feeds.
The entire elite society of Chicago watched in horrified silence as video after video played across thirty-foot screens.
They saw Camille pouring juice over a crying five-year-old’s drawings.
They saw my eight-year-old son kneeling in agony holding heavy books while Camille checked her nails.
They saw Camille strike my son across the face inside my own library just twenty-four hours ago.
"You monster..." a woman in the front row gasped, covering her mouth in sheer disgust.
Whispers erupted across the room like a wildfire. Politicians backed away from Camille as if she were carrying a plague. The socialites who had praised her grace minutes ago were now glaring at her with pure hatred.
"You beat my grandchildren?" Patrick Sloane growled, stepping toward his daughter, his massive frame shaking with volcanic rage. "You used my family name to abuse children and murder an ally?!"
"Father, please!" Camille sobbed, dropping to her knees on the stage, her silk gown spreading over the wood. "I did it for us! I did it to get the Moretti estate for the Sloane family!"
"You didn't do it for the Sloanes," I said, stepping down from the podium to stand over her. "You did it for yourself and Arthur. Show the financial logs, Naomi."
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The screen changed again, displaying bank accounts in the Cayman Islands showing millions of dollars transferred directly from Arthur Velez to Camille’s private shell accounts—bypassing Patrick Sloane entirely.
Patrick looked at Arthur, his face contorting into an expression of lethal vengeance. "You tried to rob me too?"
