Chapter 5 - The Public Execution
The grand foyer of the Ashford Estate was usually a sanctuary of understated, old-money luxury.
Floor-to-ceiling wainscoting, an eighteenth-century Waterford crystal chandelier hanging from the vaulted ceiling, and priceless oil portraits of long-dead Ashford ancestors lined the marble gallery.
Now, it was a command center.
When we stepped out of the cellar entrance, supported by Lucas and Ethan, the forty high-society guests who had been attending Lila's party were gathered near the front entrance, huddled in frightened, whispering groups.
Among them were city council members, federal judges, hedge fund directors, and prominent socialites—the exact people Grant and Vivian had spent years trying to impress.
Standing near the marble staircase were six uniformed Massachusetts State Troopers, led by Captain Thomas Vance—my second cousin on my mother's side.
When Captain Vance saw me walk into the foyer, my face bruised, my clothing torn, and blood visible beneath the medical bandages, his jaw set into an iron line.
"Captain," Grant stammered, stumbling out of the cellar doorway behind us, flanked by Ethan and Nathan. "Captain Vance! Thank God you're here! These men broke into my house! They assaulted me! I demand you arrest them immediately!"
Captain Vance didn't even look at Grant. He walked straight over to me, taking my hand gently.
"Are you alright, Claire?" Thomas asked softly.
"I'm alive, Thomas," I said quietly. "Lila is upstairs."
"Good," Thomas said. He turned around, facing the sixty guests, police officers, and private security guards standing in the foyer.
He unclipped a pair of heavy steel handcuffs from his tactical belt.
"Grant Ashford," Captain Vance announced, his deep voice echoing under the high crystal chandelier. "You are under arrest for first-degree domestic assault, felony assault with a deadly weapon, unlawful imprisonment, and corporate embezzlement."
A collective, sharp gasp rippled through the gathered socialites. Several women covered their mouths with their gloved hands, while prominent businessmen immediately turned their backs, pulling out their phones to call their public relations teams.
"This is a mistake!" Vivian screamed, rushing out of the hallway, her hair falling out of its neat bun. "Captain! Do you know who we are?! We are the Ashfords! You cannot handcuff my son in front of these people!"
"Mrs. Ashford," Captain Vance said coldly, nodding to two female troopers standing behind him. "If you continue to interfere with a felony arrest, I will have my officers place you under arrest for obstruction of justice and accessory to domestic violence."
The female troopers stepped forward, seizing Vivian’s arms and guiding her forcibly into a side sitting room.
Captain Vance stepped up to Grant, grabbing his wrists, forcing them behind his back, and snapping the cold steel handcuffs around his wrists with two sharp, definitive clicks.
Grant winced as the metal bit into his skin. He looked frantically across the room, searching the faces of his board members, his golf partners, his old ivy-league friends.
Not a single person met his eyes. They all looked away, disgusted by the undeniable physical evidence of my injuries and the terrifying reality of his sudden fall from grace.
Grant’s eyes finally landed on Celeste, who was standing near the front door, trying to sneak out behind two state troopers.
"Celeste!" Grant called out, his voice cracked with desperate panic. "Celeste, call your father! Tell him to call the governor! Tell him—"
Celeste turned around, looking at Grant with cold, total disgust.
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"Don't talk to me, Grant," Celeste hissed, wiping a smudge of makeup from her cheek. "You ruined my father's career. You're a monster, and you're going to prison."
She pulled her coat around her shoulders and hurried out the front doors into the rainy night, leaving Grant completely alone.
