Chapter 8 - The Trap is Sprung
Two weeks later, the annual Vance Logistics charity gala at the downtown waterfront hotel was the event of the season.
Hundreds of socialites, investors, and city officials milled beneath crystal chandeliers, sipping champagne and listening to soft orchestral strings. Vanessa stood near the center of the grand ballroom, wearing a breathtaking bespoke crimson silk gown, accepting praise and congratulations from board members for her upcoming promotion to co-CEO of the family conglomerate.
I stood a few yards away, dressed in a sharp tuxedo, holding a glass of club soda I hadn't touched all evening.
Vanessa caught my eye across the room. She smiled—a triumphant, arrogant smirk that practically dared me to make a move. She thought she had won. She believed my fear for Sophie’s safety had chained me to her side forever.
She didn't know that Marcus Vance and two federal marshals had landed at the private airfield an hour ago.
The heavy mahogany doors at the main entrance of the ballroom swung open.
The low murmur of conversation in the room didn't stop immediately—not until Marcus Vance, flanked by two federal agents in dark suits and crisp federal windbreakers, marched straight down the center aisle toward the dais.
Vanessa’s smile faltered. She turned around, setting her champagne flute down so hard it shattered against the edge of a marble cocktail table, spraying glass and amber liquid across the floor.
“What is the meaning of this?” the chairman of the board shouted, standing up from the front row. “This is a private charity event!”
Marcus didn't blink. He stopped directly in front of Vanessa, pulling a thick leather folio from his jacket.
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“Vanessa Moretti-Vance,” Marcus announced, his voice carrying clearly across the entire cavernous ballroom. “You are under arrest for the premeditated poisoning and homicide of Elena Vance, corporate wire fraud, and illegal possession of restricted pharmaceutical agents.”
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