Chapter 5 - The Fall of Cassandra
Cassandra took two trembling steps toward the edge of the stage, looking desperately for an exit.
Her heels caught on the edge of a heavy speaker cable, causing her to stumble awkwardly onto one knee before catching herself on the velvet drapery. The silver dress she had bragged about all evening tore along the left seam, exposing the pale lining beneath.
Nobody reached out a hand to help her up.
The society matrons who had flattered her an hour earlier turned their backs, pretending to be deeply engrossed in their evening clutches.
“Grant!” Cassandra screamed, scrambling to her feet with mascara streaking down her cheeks. “Say something! Fix this! You promised me you had everything locked down!”
Grant didn't even look at her.
He sat slumped in the gilt banquet chair, his hands dangling between his knees, staring blankly at the polished floorboards like a condemned prisoner waiting for the trapdoor to drop.
“He can’t fix this, Cassandra,” Eleanor said, her voice completely devoid of anger. “Because he has nothing left to offer you.”
Cassandra turned on Eleanor, her face twisting into a mask of pure, venomous rage.
“You think you’re so superior, don't you?” Cassandra shrieked, the microphone near the podium picking up every frantic word. “You were always Daddy’s favorite! The brilliant engineer! The quiet genius! You treated me like a charity case for twenty years!”
Eleanor looked down at her half-sister with an expression that was far more painful than fury.
It was absolute indifference.
“I treated you like a sister, Cass,” Eleanor said softly. “I paid off your debts when you failed out of design school. I gave you a vice presidency you were entirely unqualified for. I defended you when the board wanted you fired three years ago for gross incompetence.”
“You gave me scraps!” Cassandra spat, stepping toward the stage stairs. “You sat in your laboratory like a saint while I did the real work of keeping this company’s image alive!”
“And you stole four million dollars from the pension fund to pay for an Italian villa,” a new voice boomed from the side of the stage.
Arthur Vance emerged from the private dining room, flanked by the six remaining members of the Board of Directors.
In Arthur’s hand was a freshly signed resolution on corporate letterhead.
“As of five minutes ago, the board has unanimously terminated Cassandra Vale for cause, effective immediately,” Arthur announced to the room. “Her corporate credit lines have been revoked. Her company-leased apartment in Tribeca has been locked out by building management.”
Cassandra froze on the stairs, her breath catching in her throat. “You can’t lock me out! My clothes are there! My jewelry!”
“Any property acquired with misappropriated corporate capital is now subject to a federal asset freeze,” the federal marshal on the stage stated calmly, stepping down the stairs toward her. “Miss Vale, you are instructed to surrender your passport to federal authorities by nine o’clock Monday morning.”
Cassandra looked around the cavernous ballroom.
The six hundred guests stared at her not with envy, and not even with anger, but with the cold, voyeuristic curiosity reserved for a roadside accident.
She pulled her torn silver gown tightly around her waist, lowered her head, and fled down the service corridor behind the stage, her high heels clicking frantically against the concrete floor until the door slammed shut behind her.
May you like
She left with nothing. No title, no money, and not a single friend in the room she had sought to conquer.
Eleanor watched the corridor door close, her face still, before turning back to the man sitting in the center of the stage.
