Chapter 5 - THE FAILING HEART OF A DECEIVED PATRIARCH
Grant took a step back,
his hand reaching out to steady himself against the edge of the presenter’s podium.
"Evelyn,
we should discuss this in private,"
he muttered,
his eyes darting toward the crowd of watching guests.
"This is a charity event,
not a courtroom,"
he added,
trying to appeal to my sense of social decorum.
"You chose to make our private life a public spectacle,"
I reminded him,
gesturing toward the portrait of Julian.
"You chose to humiliate our children in front of three hundred guests,
Grant."
I turned to the next section of the forensic report,
the paper rustling loudly in the quiet room.
"So we will discuss this here,
where everyone can see the true cost of your new beginning."
I looked at Richard Sterling,
the chairman of the board,
who had stepped closer to the stage,
his expression grim.
"Richard,"
I said,
calling him forward,
"I believe you will want to hear this."
Grant’s eyes widened with terror as the chairman walked up to stand beside me,
his presence lending official weight to my words.
"Evelyn,
what is going on?"
Richard asked,
his voice low but commanding,
his eyes moving between Grant and the folder.
"Over the last five years,"
I began,
reading from the certified accountant’s summary,
"Grant has authorized several large transactions from our corporate accounts."
"These transactions were disguised as consulting fees paid to a firm called Apex Development,"
I explained,
pointing to the line items on the page.
"But our forensic team has discovered that Apex Development has only one registered owner."
I paused,
looking directly at Celeste,
whose hands were now trembling violently against her white gown.
"The sole owner of Apex Development is Celeste Hart,"
I announced,
letting the words ring out clearly through the ballroom.
A wave of shocked gasps erupted from the crowd,
the board members whispering furiously among themselves.
"The total amount transferred to this dummy corporation over five years,"
I continued,
my voice relentless,
"is four point eight million dollars."
"Every single dollar of that money was taken from the Beaumont charity endowment,"
I added,
revealing the true nature of his crime.
"The very fund that this gala is supposed to support."
Grant’s face drained of all color,
his hands shaking as he looked at the board members who had supported him for years.
"It was a legitimate business arrangement!"
he shouted,
his voice cracking with desperation,
sounding weak and pathetic.
"We have the contracts,
we have the receipts!"
he insisted,
looking at Celeste for confirmation.
But Celeste could not help him,
her eyes wide with the realization that her luxurious life was built on a foundation of sand.
She looked at the guests,
she looked at the cameras still recording every word,
and she knew she was ruined.
The proud mistress who had stood beneath the chandelier,
claiming she wanted a future,
was now exposed as a co-conspirator in a massive financial fraud.
I looked at my children,
who were standing close to Margaret Shaw,
their faces serious but no longer afraid.
They were seeing their father for what he truly was,
a thief who had stolen from his own family’s legacy.
And they knew,
May you like
without a doubt,
that the battle was already won.
