Chapter 2 - The Ledger and the Vine
The word transferred hung in the air like a falling guillotine.
Nathan staggered backward half a step, colliding awkwardly against the heavy mahogany trim of the archway. “That’s… that’s impossible,” he stammered, his aristocratic composure entirely shattered. “The acquisition of the Napa valley vineyards was underwritten by First Chicago. It’s a sealed, ten-year syndicate deal! You can’t just—ṭ”
“I don’t acquire deals, Nathan,” Dominic interrupted smoothly, his fingers resting casually against the lapel of his black suit. “I acquire the men who sign them. And your father was always very careless with his signatures when he needed liquidity to cover your gambling debts in Monaco.”
Maribel grabbed Nathan’s sleeve, her eyes wide with panic. “Nathan, what does he mean? What’s happening to the trust? My investment—”
“Shut up, Maribel,” Nathan hissed, losing his temper entirely as the thin veneer of his public charm melted away. He turned back to Dominic, his face flushed with desperate fury. “This is a private matter! You have no business interfering in a family dispute—this is about Vivian and me, it has nothing to do with Wexler Vine & Trade!”
“Everything in Chicago is my business, son,” Dominic replied, his dark eyes narrowing into twin points of absolute ice. “Especially when someone brings trash into a ballroom I’m currently breathing in.”
Vivian looked at Nathan—the man she had spent three years believing in, planning a life with, defending to her skeptical colleagues—and realized with startling clarity that she had never truly known him at all. He wasn't a visionary; he was a spoiled, hollow shell riding the coattails of a family name that was currently being disassembled piece by piece by a man who had built an empire with his bare hands.
She pulled her hand gently from the crook of Dominic’s arm. The sudden absence of his touch left a strange, cold void, but she stood tall, squaring her shoulders as she looked Nathan dead in the eye.
“You spent eight months sneaking around behind my back with my own sister,” Vivian said, her voice clear, steady, and loud enough to carry across the quieted perimeter of the ballroom. “You used my design plans for this gala, you used my labor to build your public image, and you thought you could keep me tucked away like a decorative vase while you played your games.”
Nathan flinched, looking around wildly as a few nearby investors began whispering behind cupped hands. “Vivian, please—let’s not make a scene here, we can talk about this in the study—at home—”
“There is no home, Nathan,” she cut him off sharply, pulling the diamond engagement ring off her finger and dropping it onto a silver champagne tray passing by on a waiter’s tray with a soft, metallic clink. “And there is no foundation. Consider this my resignation.”
She turned on her heel, her ivory gown sweeping across the marble floor as she walked away from the archway toward the grand exit doors.
May you like
She expected to walk alone. She expected the heavy oak doors to feel like an escape hatch.
Instead, a steady, measured stride matched hers step for step. A heavy, warm hand settled once again against the small of her back, guiding her through the parting sea of Chicago’s most powerful people, none of whom dared to meet Dominic Bellardi’s eye as he escorted Nathan Wexler’s former fiancée out into the night.
