My Mother Sold Me to Chicago’s Most Feared Mafia Boss for a $2 Million Payout—Then He Asked Me One Question She Never Had

Enzo didn't turn it off.

Instead, he hit the play button on the audio file recorded in the study two days ago.

The sound of Dr. Vance's trembling voice filled the Grand Ballroom, carried through thirty high-end Bose speakers mounted along the ceiling.

"Charlotte paid a broker named Miller to deliver Jane to Duca’s men!" Dr. Vance’s recorded voice screamed through the hall. "She explicitly told Miller that Jane wasn't supposed to survive the night! She said, 'Make sure Marco understands she’s collateral that needs to be disposed of!'"

The ballroom erupted into complete chaos.

Women gasped, pushing their chairs back. Donors stood up in outrage. The reporters near the stage began frantically pointing their cameras back and forth between the screen and Charlotte.

"That's a lie!" Charlotte screamed, turning back to the crowd, her face contorted into an ugly, terrifying mask of rage. "That audio is fake! It's an AI generation! Marco Duca is a criminal! He framed me!"

She grabbed the microphone stand, shaking it violently.

"Jane!" Charlotte shrieked, staring up at the balcony, her eyes wide and bloodshot. "Tell them! Tell them I loved you! Tell them I took care of you your whole life!"

I leaned forward over the iron balcony railing.

For the first time all evening, I brought the small lapel microphone attached to my black dress close to my mouth.