Chapter 7 - The Royal Retribution
The ballroom exploded into absolute chaos. Reporters stood on chairs, shouting questions at the top of their lungs, camera flashes creating a dizzying, blinding storm of light across the stage.
"Mr. Hullbrook! Did you bribe a doctor?" "Brittany Mercer! Are those offshore accounts real?" "Mrs. Hullbrook! Are you filing for divorce?"
Grant scrambled toward Caroline, his hands outstretched in a desperate, pathetic gesture. "Caroline! Please! Listen to me! It was a mistake! Brittany manipulated me! I love you, Caroline!"
Before Grant could get within five feet of her, Julian Vance stepped onto the stage. With effortless physical dominance, Julian caught Grant by the collar of his expensive jacket, stopped him dead in his tracks, and shoved him backward onto the floor.
"Touch my sister again," Julian said, his voice terrifyingly calm, "and you won't live to see your trial."
At that moment, the double doors of the ballroom opened once more. A team of federal agents from the Securities and Exchange Commission, accompanied by detectives from the Financial Crimes Unit, marched down the aisle.
The lead detective stepped onto the stage, pulling a pair of steel handcuffs from his belt.
"Grant Hullbrook," the officer read aloud over the lingering noise of the room. "You are under arrest for grand larceny, wire fraud, conspiracy to commit medical kidnapping, and corporate embezzlement. You have the right to remain silent."
The cameras captured every second of the humiliation. The man who had sat behind his desk three days ago, laughing as his wife was spat upon, was forced onto his knees on national television. His hands were cuffed behind his back, his head bowed in absolute defeat as state troopers hoisted him up.
As they dragged Grant past the podium, he looked at Arthur Vance, his eyes filled with terrified pleading. "Arthur! Please! You can't do this to me! Think of your granddaughter!"
Arthur Vance stepped closer, leaning down so only Grant could hear his words beneath the din of the reporters.
"My granddaughter will grow up knowing her father was a coward who spent his life behind bars," Arthur whispered coldly. "I bought all your company's debt two hours ago, Grant. I own your house. I own your cars. I own your clothes. By tomorrow morning, you won't even have enough money to buy a cup of coffee in prison."
Grant was dragged off the stage, sobbing openly as reporters shoved microphones into his face.
Meanwhile, two female officers approached Brittany Mercer in the front row. Brittany tried to flee toward a side emergency exit, but security guards blocked her path.
"Brittany Mercer," an officer said, snapping handcuffs onto her wrists. "You are being detained as a co-conspirator in federal financial fraud and obstruction of justice."
"Let go of me!" Brittany shrieked, her perfect facade completely shattered as her hair fell into disarray. "I was just doing what Grant told me! It was all his idea!"
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Caroline walked to the edge of the stage, looking down at Brittany as the officers led her away. Brittany caught Caroline's eye—the same eyes she had sneered at three days ago.
Caroline didn't spit. She didn't mock. She simply gave Brittany a small, cold, elegant smile—the ultimate expression of absolute victory.
