Chapter 7 - The Founders’ Gala
The Grand Ballroom of the Riverwalk Hotel was a cathedral of crystal chandeliers, polished terrazzo floors, and towering arrangements of white lilies. San Antonio’s entire political and financial elite had gathered—mayors, oil magnates, real estate titans, and senators sipping vintage champagne from flute glasses.
At the center of the room stood Julian and Victoria, holding court with three prominent city council members. Victoria looked triumphant, wearing a daring scarlet gown with diamond drop earrings, her laughter ringing out across the room.
Then the double doors swung open.
The string quartet didn't stop playing, but a collective hush rippled through the ballroom like an electric current. Heads turned. Conversations halted mid-sentence.
Alexander Carter walked in.
He was dressed in a bespoke black tuxedo with satin lapels, radiating an aura of absolute, terrifying power that commanded the room effortlessly.
And on his arm was me.
Alexander’s private stylists had spent three hours transforming me. My hair was swept up into an intricate, elegant twist that exposed my neckline and the delicate diamond pendant Alexander had personally fastened around my throat before we left the estate. I wore a midnight-blue silk gown with an asymmetrical off-the-shoulder cut that draped to the floor like liquid water, hugging every curve of my body with regal grace.
Walking beside us, holding my other hand with proud, steady steps, was Eleanor Carter.
She wore a classic navy velvet gown, her silver hair crowned with a vintage pearl comb. There was no tremor in her hand tonight; her grip was firm, her chin lifted high, her smile radiant and completely lucid.
Victoria’s champagne glass froze halfway to her lips. The color drained from her face so fast she looked like a ghost in red silk.
“Alexander,” Julian said, scrambling forward to greet us, his eyes darting frantically between me and Eleanor. “We... we didn't expect Eleanor to attend tonight. The doctors said crowds might be overstimulating for her condition.”
“The doctors were mistaken, Julian,” Eleanor said clearly, her voice carrying across the silent circle of onlookers. “In fact, Dr. Phillips has been relieved of his duties as of three o’clock this afternoon, along with his medical license review board filing.”
Julian swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “What... what are you talking about?”
Alexander stepped forward, letting go of my arm to face his cousin.
“You’ve had a busy month, Julian,” Alexander said, his voice smooth, cold, and carrying the weight of a guillotine blade. “Setting up dummy corporations in the Cayman Islands. Attempting to bribe municipal zoning commissioners. And having documents drawn up to declare my mother mentally incompetent so you could liquidate her voting bloc to cover your forty-million-dollar embezzlement.”
Gasps erupted from the surrounding crowd. City council members backed away from Julian as if he were carrying the plague.
Victoria stepped forward, her claws bared in desperate fury. “This is outrageous! Alexander, you’re making public accusations based on the word of an uneducated waitress you dragged out of a greasy diner!”
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“She isn't an uneducated waitress, Victoria,” a calm, authoritative voice boomed from the ballroom entrance.
Walking into the light were two men in dark suits, followed by Special Agent Martinez of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, flanked by uniformed state troopers.
