“I’m the Boss Now,” the Maid’s Toddler Said—Then Her First Order Made the Billionaire Freeze

Chaos erupted in the ballroom. Gasps of shock echoed off the gilded ceilings. Politicians frantically backed away toward the exits, sensing the impending violence.

Silas’s face turned a violent shade of purple. “He’s delusional! The grief has driven him insane! Security, remove my brother from the stage!”

Silas’s personal guards moved forward, but before they could take three steps, the heavy doors of the ballroom slammed shut with a deafening thud.

The catering staff, the valets, and the doormen simultaneously reached under their jackets, drawing suppressed weapons. They weren't hotel staff; they were Damon’s elite tactical team, planted hours before the event.

The ballroom was entirely locked down.

“Nobody moves,” Vance commanded, stepping out from behind a curtain with a heavy assault rifle.

Silas realized he was trapped. He slowly raised his hands, glaring at Damon. “You can't prove anything, you fool. You’re going to execute your own blood in front of the entire city?”

“I don't need to execute you, Silas,” Damon said coldly from the stage. “I just need to play a tape.”

Damon nodded to the sound engineer.

Over the massive speakers, the terrified, sobbing voice of Dr. Evans filled the room. The doctor detailed every bribe, the exact neurotoxin used, and explicitly named Silas Ashford as the mastermind behind Elena’s murder.

The syndicate bosses listened in horror. Murdering a rival was business; murdering a boss’s pregnant wife was a violation of the highest, unspoken codes of the underworld. Silas had become an instant pariah.

“It’s a deepfake!” Silas roared, desperation cracking his suave facade. “He fabricated it to steal my shares!”

“I didn't need to fabricate anything,” Damon replied, stepping off the stage and walking slowly toward his brother. “And I don't care about the shares. I care about justice.”

Silas, realizing he had no way out, made a fatal mistake.