Chapter 7 - The Masterstroke
The color drained from Victoria Sterling’s face so completely that her designer foundation looked like theatrical makeup plastered over chalk. The manicured confidence that had carried her into the tent dissolved into raw, sputtering panic.
“That’s... that’s an outright lie,” Victoria stammered, though her voice lacked even a shred of its former venom. She took an involuntary step backward, nearly tripping over the hem of her trousers. “You’re a florist! You don't know anything about maritime holding accounts!”
“I’m a florist who manages half a million dollars in perishable inventory and international supply chains every single season,” Sophie said, her voice ringing out with an iron clarity that pinned Victoria to the floor. “I know what a clean bill of lading looks like. And I definitely know when an import invoice for Ecuadorian roses has an extra zero on the end and routes through a shell bank in the Cayman Islands with your family’s corporate seal on it.”
Alex stepped up beside Sophie, his towering frame casting a long, dark shadow over the socialite and her lawyers. A look of profound respect and genuine awe shone in his gray eyes as he looked down at Sophie, before turning his gaze back to Victoria with the cold satisfaction of an executioner.
“You brought lawyers to a wedding, Victoria,” Alex said quietly, the menace in his tone sending a shiver through the crowd. “That was your first mistake. Your second mistake was assuming Sophie was a victim. Marcus,” he called out.
From the back of the tent, Marcus—Alex’s chief of security and personal legal strategist—stepped through the crowd holding a tablet computer.
“Already done, Mr. Reed,” Marcus reported crisply. “Federal prosecutors in the Southern District of New York have just received the encrypted mirror of that drive. Along with the wire intercepts from Grant Holloway’s burner phone over the last forty-eight hours. The FBI’s financial crimes division has just flagged Arthur Sterling’s private jet at Teterboro Airport. Nobody is taking off, and nobody is leaving the country.”
Victoria let out a choked gasp, clutching her Birkin bag to her chest like a shield. “You wouldn't dare. This will destroy the merger! It will destroy both our companies!”
“There is no merger, Victoria,” Alex said with finality. “There never was. I spent the last three months gathering evidence against your father’s syndicate because I knew he was trying to execute a hostile takeover of my shipping routes. The only reason I hadn't dropped the hammer was because I was waiting for the final link in the money-laundering chain. And your greedy little errand boy, Grant Holloway, just handed it to my wife on a silver platter.”
At the word wife, a collective murmur of awe swept through the room. Sophie felt a warm, golden spark ignite in her chest. She wasn't just surviving this day; she was dismantling the people who had tried to crush her.
“Now,” Sophie said, pointing toward the exit of the marquee, “take your lawyers, get off my lawn, and tell Grant that if he isn't off the estate grounds in sixty seconds, I’m releasing the audio of him begging to sell me for seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars to every local news station in the state.”
Victoria didn't say another word. With her face burning in humiliated defeat, she spun on her designer heels and practically sprinted out of the tent, her two terrified attorneys scurrying behind her like frightened mice.
The moment the tent flap fell shut, the entire reception erupted into deafening cheers. Uncle David was clapping wildly, Clara was screaming at the top of her lungs, and Sophie’s flower shop employees were pounding on the wooden banquet tables in triumphant celebration.
Alex turned to Sophie, a breathless, incredulous laugh escaping his lips. “You had those offshore files the entire time?”
“I found them three months ago,” Sophie admitted, a sly smile dancing on her lips. “I was going to confront Grant after the honeymoon because I thought he was just being stupid with our taxes. I had no idea how deep the rabbit hole went until he mentioned the Sterling family in the library.”
“You are terrifying, Sophie Bennett,” Alex murmured, his eyes blazing with admiration so deep it made her knees weak.
May you like
“That’s Mrs. Reed to you,” she replied, tilting her chin up.
Alex caught her around the waist, pulling her flush against him once more, oblivious to the roaring applause of the crowd. “And don't you ever let me forget it.”
