Chapter 4 - Shadow on the Red Carpet
The Plaza Hotel was bathed in golden light.
A long red carpet stretched from the grand entrance on Fifth Avenue down into the opulent crystal ballroom.
Dozens of photographers stood behind velvet ropes,
their camera flashes illuminating the night sky like lightning.
Television crews from major financial news networks were set up near the entrance,
broadcasting live coverage of the annual Ashford Children’s Foundation Gala.
It was the premier social event of the autumn season.
The elite of New York—billionaires,
politicians,
foreign dignitaries,
and Hollywood royalty—arrived in sleek black limousines,
stepping out onto the carpet in custom tuxedos and floor-length gowns.
At seven-thirty,
a glossy black Maybach pulled up to the curb.
The door opened,
and Grant Ashford stepped out.
He looked dashing in a classic Tom Ford tuxedo,
his dark hair combed back,
a brilliant white smile plastered across his face.
To the cameras,
he looked like the picture of executive success and marital bliss.
But if you looked closely,
very closely,
you could see the tight strain around his eyes.
You could see the tiny beads of perspiration on his upper lip.
He had tried to call me fifty times that afternoon.
I had blocked his number.
He had sent security guards to my legal counsel's office,
only to be turned away at the door.
He was operating completely in the dark,
terrified,
clutching at straws,
hoping against hope that I would maintain public appearances for the sake of the charity.
He turned back to the car door,
offering his hand to assist his wife.
I stepped out of the vehicle.
A collective gasp rose from the crowd of photographers.
I was not wearing traditional black or pastel gala attire.
I was wearing a dramatic,
emerald-green silk gown by Schiaparelli,
with a sculpted gold collar that looked like armor around my neck.
My dark hair was pulled back into a sleek,
flawless bun.
I looked magnificent.
I looked untouchable.
I took Grant’s offered hand,
feeling the slight tremor in his fingers.
“You look extraordinary,
Vivienne,”
he whispered under his breath,
his smile remaining fixed for the flashing cameras.
“Thank you,
husband,”
I replied softly,
my voice smooth as glass.
“You look...
nervous.”
“Vivienne,
please,”
he muttered as we walked slowly down the red carpet,
waving to reporters.
“We need to talk privately before the speeches start.”
“Piper is in the hospital.”
“She’s having complications!”
“The hospital called me saying her insurance was canceled!”
“Did you do that?”
I stopped on the carpet,
turning to face him directly,
giving the photographers a perfect shot of the loving couple exchanging words.
“I told you this morning,
Grant,”
I murmured,
my smile dazzling.
“Actions have consequences.”
“She is giving birth to your child right now,
Viv!”
he hissed,
his jaw clenching tightly.
“How could you be so cruel?”
“Cruel?”
I echoed softly,
my green eyes locking onto his trembling dark ones.
“Cruel is stealing fourteen million dollars from my father’s foundation.”
“Cruel is attempting to sell my family’s controlling shares to foreign investors.”
“Cruel is bringing a mistress into my home.”
“What I am doing tonight,
Grant...”
“is simply justice.”
Grant’s breath caught in his throat.
He realized,
with a sudden,
devastating stroke of terror,
that I knew everything.
Not just about Piper.
Not just about the hospital.
I knew about Dubai.
I knew about Al-Mansoor Capital.
I knew about the forged signatures.
“Vivienne...”
he stammered,
his fake smile finally collapsing,
his face turning grey under the bright carpet lights.
“Listen to me...
it’s not what it looks like...
I can reverse the deal...
I can cancel the transfer!”
“It’s too late,
Grant,”
I said pleasantly,
turning away from him and walking toward the heavy brass doors of the Plaza Grand Ballroom.
“The show is about to begin.”
As I stepped into the ballroom,
I glanced subtly toward the corners of the room.
Standing discreetly near the grand pillars were four men in sharp grey suits.
They weren't hotel security.
They were federal agents from the Financial Crimes Enforcement Network,
accompanied by Carter Vance’s senior legal partners.
They met my gaze and gave me a slight,
imperceptible nod.
The trap was set.
May you like
The bait was taken.
And Grant Ashford was about to walk straight onto the executioner's stage.
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