Chapter 17 - The Ambush in Paris
The Grand Palais in Paris was shimmering under thousands of golden spotlight projectors.
The world’s elite hotel operators,
investors,
and luxury magnates had gathered for the Annual International Hospitality Summit.
It was the grandest stage in European commerce.
I stepped onto the marble lobby floor wearing a floor-length silver gown by Givenchy,
a diamond serpent necklace coiled around my neck.
Beside me walked Carter Vance,
his eyes sharp and watchful.
As we moved through the crowded ballroom,
conversations died down,
heads turned,
and whispers echoed off the gilded ceilings.
Everyone in that room knew my name.
Everyone knew how I had dismantled my husband’s fraudulent schemes,
imprisoned a billionaire,
and taken back my father’s empire.
Then,
the crowd parted.
Walking toward me from the central balcony was Layla Al-Mansoor.
She was dressed in a tailored black tuxedo jumpsuit,
surrounded by four imposing security guards and two senior Swiss attorneys.
She stopped three feet away from me,
her dark eyes burning with deep,
personal hatred.
“Vivienne Vane,”
Layla said,
her voice smooth,
arrogant,
and laced with an accented sneer.
“The famous widow of Fifth Avenue.”
“I am not a widow,
Layla,”
I replied calmly,
looking her up and down.
“My ex-husband is alive and well in a federal prison cell.”
“Where your father currently keeps him company.”
Layla’s jaw tightened,
a flush of rage creeping up her neck.
“My father was a visionary,”
she hissed,
stepping closer.
“You humiliated him in front of the world.”
“You destroyed thirty years of our family’s legacy for the sake of your petty ego.”
“Your father destroyed himself when he tried to steal from my family,”
I said softly,
my voice as steady as steel.
“He used a gullible thief named Grant Ashford,”
“and he paid twenty million dollars for a lie.”
Layla let out a sharp,
cold laugh.
“You think you’ve won,
don’t you?”
she taunted,
leaning in so only I could hear.
“Look at your phone,
Vivienne.”
“At five o’clock CET,”
“my funds quietly acquired twenty-two percent of the senior debt of Vane Global’s flagship hotel in Paris.”
“I hold your European mortgages.”
“In twenty-four hours,”
“I will declare a technical default based on your recent corporate restructuring.”
“I am going to seize this property from under your feet.”
I did not blink.
I did not show a single trace of panic.
Instead,
I pulled a delicate gold velvet envelope from my evening clutch and handed it to her.
Layla looked at the envelope,
frowning.
“What is this?”
“That,”
I said smoothly,
“is an official notice from the French Financial Markets Authority.”
Layla’s eyebrows pulled together in confusion.
She ripped open the envelope and pulled out the legal document inside.
As her eyes scanned the French legal text,
the color drained from her face,
leaving her skin as pale as chalk.
“Three hours ago,”
I explained,
my voice carrying across the quieted circle of onlookers,
“Vane Global Hospitality purchased seventy percent of the holding company that manages your Swiss liquidity reserves.”
“We didn’t just defend our hotel in Paris,
Layla.”
“We bought your bank.”
Layla gasped,
her hands shaking so violently that the paper rattled in her fingers.
“You...
you can’t do that!”
she stammered,
stepping back in horror.
“The regulatory approval takes weeks!”
“Not when your bank is under federal investigation for laundering money for Tariq Al-Mansoor,”
Carter Vance added with a quiet,
devastating smile.
“The French government was delighted to grant us emergency acquisition rights.”
I stepped closer to Layla,
looking down at her shattered composure.
“You came to Paris to ambush me,
Layla,”
I whispered softly.
“Instead,”
“you just handed me the rest of your father’s empire.”
“Enjoy the summit.”
I turned on my heel,
May you like
my silver gown trailing behind me,
leaving Layla Al-Mansoor standing alone amidst the silence of Paris high society.
