Chapter 7 - The Tables Turn Completely
The ballroom erupted into absolute chaos. Reporters snapped photographs furiously, flashes blinding my mother as she buried her face in her hands in sheer humiliation. The wedding planners were already on their phones, frantically calling catering companies to cancel open bar orders as they realized the Moretti family was completely pulling all financial backing from the event.
Sutton dropped to her knees on the stage, sobbing hysterically—not tears of remorse, but tears of pure rage because her precious social media aesthetic and billionaire wedding had vanished into thin air.
“Fallon! Please!” Althia rushed toward my wheelchair, her hands trembling as she tried to grab my arm. “We’re your family! You can’t do this to us! Drop the charges! Tell them it was a misunderstanding!”
I looked down at my mother—the woman who had belittled my intelligence, stolen my savings, and watched indifferently as my leg was broken twice. I didn't yell. I didn't cry. I simply looked her dead in the eye with icy calm.
“You taught me my entire life that family comes first,” I said softly, my voice carrying clearly across the quietened room. “So I’m making sure you finally learn the consequences of your actions.”
Vesper opened a formal legal document and handed it to my father. “Sign the asset restitution agreement transferring full ownership of your secondary residential property back to Fallon to cover the stolen funds, or my legal team files criminal fraud charges before you leave this building.”
Stellin looked at Adriano’s stony, unblinking glare, then at the federal indictment drafts resting in Vesper’s hands. With trembling fingers, he picked up a gold-plated fountain pen and signed his name on the dotted line.
Adriano watched the transaction conclude, a faint, rare ghost of a smile touching the corner of his mouth. He turned his attention back to me, stepping gracefully toward my wheelchair.
“You handled yourself with remarkable dignity, Ms. Bennett,” Adriano said, his voice dropping into a softer, more personal register. “Though I suspect your medical leave is going to be significantly longer than anticipated.”
“It is,” I admitted, offering a wry smile. “Eight months in a wheelchair. My aerospace inspection contract is on hold, and I have to rebuild my life from scratch.”
Adriano reached down, gently resting his hand over the edge of my wheelchair handle. “Moretti Holdings happens to be acquiring three major aerospace engineering firms this month, and we are desperately in need of a brilliant, unyielding lead inspector who cannot be intimidated by corrupt corporate actors. I believe your salary will more than cover your medical bills.”
My breath caught in my throat. I looked up into his deep, piercing eyes, feeling an electric spark that had nothing to do with fear or shock.
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“Is that a business proposal, Mr. Moretti?” I asked softly.
“Call it an investment in someone who actually deserves to win,” he replied, extending his arm to escort me out of the ruined ballroom while my family stood completely paralyzed in defeat.
