Chapter 7 - The Confrontation
Graham froze.
Bianca gasped, dropping one of the satin shoes onto the plush rug as both of them spun around toward the doorway.
I stepped slowly out of the shadows of the entrance hall, entering the bright light of the sitting room chandelier.
I wasn't wearing the simple, worn sweater I usually wore at home. I was wearing an exquisite, emerald-green velvet evening gown that fit like a glove—a gown my father had bought for me years ago, which I had saved for a truly special occasion. My hair was styled in an elegant vintage updo, my dark lips set in a firm, unyielding line, and my eyes burning with a cold, terrifying intensity.
Standing directly behind me were two men: Marcus Vance, carrying a heavy leather briefcase, and Detective Robert Miller from the City Police Department’s Financial Crimes Division, wearing a dark trench coat with his badge resting visibly on his belt.
Graham’s glass slipped from his hand, crashing against the hardwood floor and shattering into a hundred glittering shards as champagne pooled across the rug.
"C-Catherine?" Graham stammered, his face turning an ash-gray color within seconds. "What... what are you doing here? How did you get up here?"
"The concierge was remarkably cooperative once Detective Miller showed him a master search warrant for the suite, Graham," I said softly, taking three slow, deliberate steps into the room.
Bianca took an instinctive step backward, her hand clutching the collar of her white dress. "Who gave you permission to enter this room?! This is a private suite!"
"Shut up, Bianca," Marcus Vance snapped, stepping forward and opening his briefcase on the dining table. "You are currently standing in a room rented with embezzled charitable funds. If you take another step toward that door, Detective Miller will detain you as a co-conspirator to corporate grand larceny."
Bianca’s mouth snapped shut. Her face flushed red with absolute terror as she looked at the police detective standing near the entrance.
"Catherine, please," Graham said, his voice cracking as he raised his hands in a desperate pleading gesture. "This is a terrible misunderstanding! I can explain everything! Bianca and I were just... we were reviewing the staging props for the awards ceremony!"
"Save it, Graham," I said, pulling a pair of pristine white satin wedding shoes—the exact size seven heels Bianca had just dropped—off the coffee table and holding them up in the light.
"You bought these with the same card I used to buy medicine for our daughter," I whispered, my voice echoing through the opulent room. "While Lily was crying with a hundred-and-two-degree fever, you were standing in a boutique buying pearl-embroidered heels for your mistress."
"Catherine, I'm sorry!" Graham cried, stepping toward me, his eyes wide with wild, manic panic. "I lost my head! It was a mistake! She seduced me, Catherine! It was all her!"
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"You pathetic coward!" Bianca shrieked, turning on him with bared teeth. "You told me you hated her! You told me she was a anchor dragging down your career!"
"Quiet! Both of you!" Marcus Vance boomed, laying three thick stacks of legal documents on the table with a loud thud.
