Chapter 5 - The Truth Comes to Light
"Two million dollars?" Mr. Laurent repeated, letting out a short, dry laugh that lacked any humor. "Madam, Mr. Vance hasn't deposited a single dime into the resort escrow account since the initial booking deposit six months ago—and even that bounced."
My father stumbled up from his chair, his face turning a dangerous shade of purple. He pointed a shaking finger at Greg. "What is he talking about? You showed us the bank statements! You showed us the portfolio of properties in London and New York!"
"Those... those were projections, Arthur," Greg stammered, backing away as my father advanced on him like an enraged bull. "Market fluctuations! The liquidation of my assets hit a temporary snag with international regulators—"
"You lied to us?" Sarah shrieked, her voice reaching a shrieking pitch. She grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing tray and hurled it directly at Greg’s face. The golden liquid splashed across his white linen suit and dripped down his chin. "You told me you were rich! You told me you bought this island for me!"
"Sarah, baby, listen to me," Greg pleaded, holding up his hands to ward off another projectile. "We can fix this! We just need time—"
"Time for what? To go to prison?" Evelyn cried out, clutching her chest as if she were about to faint right onto the floor. "My God, we invited half the social elite of Ohio and London to this place! People spent thousands on flights! What are we going to tell them?"
While my family dissolved into a screaming, chaotic mess of recriminations and panic, I stepped slowly out of the shadows.
I walked down the center aisle of the pavilion, my simple gray silk dress brushing against the wooden floorboards. The red emergency lights cast long, dramatic shadows behind me.
My father stopped shouting at Greg and turned his furious gaze onto me. "Elena! What are you doing just standing there? Do something! Call someone!"
"Why should I, Dad?" I asked calmly, my voice cutting cleanly through the din of the panicked guests.
Evelyn glared at me, her face twisted with venom. "Because this is a family crisis! Because Sarah is your sister! Instead of standing there looking useless like you always do, use whatever pathetic savings you have from your accountant job to help fix this!"
I stopped ten feet away from the head table, crossed my arms, and let out a soft, cold laugh.
"My savings?" I asked, tilting my head. "Mom, do you honestly think an accountant making a standard salary could afford a first-class ticket to the Maldives on a whim?"
Greg snapped his head around, his eyes locking onto mine with sudden, terrifying realization. He had seen my corporate dossier during the initial background checks months ago, but his arrogant mind had dismissed me as an insignificant background character.
"It was you," Greg whispered, his voice trembling. "The anonymous primary trust... that was you."
"Bingo," I said smoothly.
May you like
I pulled my phone out of my pocket, unlocked the screen, and held it up so the glowing display reflected off the dark ocean behind us.
"For the record," I announced to the entire silent pavilion, "every single flight, every hotel room, every plate of food, every bottle of champagne, and every hour of this island rental was paid for by one person. Me."
