Chapter 7 - The Handcuffs and the Ice
"Arrested?!" Dominic screamed, his voice cracking into a high-pitched shriek as the federal marshals stepped forward, grabbed his arms, and forced him down against the edge of the marble table. "You can't do this! This is a hostile takeover! I have rights! Cassandra, tell them! Your father is a board investor!"
Cassandra had already retreated to the far side of the room, her face white with absolute disgust, refusing to even look in his direction as her father frantically dialed his lawyers on his phone.
"You had all the rights you paid for with other people's money, Dominic," Victor said coldly, nodding to the marshals. "Cuff him."
The metallic click of the handcuffs echoing through the penthouse was sweeter than any music.
Dominic thrashed wildly, his expensive Italian tuxedo twisting as the officers dragged him toward the private elevator. As he passed me, his eyes met mine—no longer filled with arrogance or contempt, but with a pathetic, whimpering panic.
"Vivienne! Please!" he sobbed, his voice breaking. "Please tell him to stop! We have a family! Think of Sophia!"
"I am thinking of Sophia," I said, my voice completely devoid of pity. "Which is why I'm making sure she never has to watch her mother humiliated by a fraud again."
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The elevator doors closed, taking Dominic down to a very different kind of reality than the one he had planned for his glittering evening.
The ballroom remained frozen. Dozens of Atlanta's elite stared at me in stunned, terrified silence, realizing that the quiet woman in the inexpensive coat whom they had ignored all evening was holding the leash of the most powerful family in the country.
