Chapter 5 - THE NIGHT OF THE GALA
The charity gala had been on my calendar for eight months, and canceling would have been the easiest thing in the world. Maya suggested it. Detective Ruiz suggested it. Even my assistant, Jenna, offered to release a statement saying I was ill.
I refused. The gala was for a children’s hospital foundation I had supported long before I met Richard. Victoria had spent years acting as though every room in Manhattan belonged to her. I was not going to surrender one more room just because she had finally stopped pretending to be civilized.
The event was held at a ballroom overlooking Central Park. Crystal chandeliers reflected across mirrored walls, waiters moved between tables with silver trays, and more than three hundred donors filled the room in black tie and evening gowns.
I wore a simple black dress. No diamonds. No dramatic entrance. I wanted the attention on the foundation. Victoria had other plans. She arrived twenty minutes before dinner.
The room changed when she entered. People noticed her because Victoria had trained them to notice her. Cream silk, emerald earrings, perfect posture. If you did not know her, you would have thought she was composed.
I knew better. She crossed the ballroom slowly, smiling at people who had no idea she had been questioned by police less than forty-eight hours earlier.
Then she stopped at my table. “Sophia.” “Victoria.” Her smile did not reach her eyes. “I’m surprised you came.” “I’m on the host committee.”
“Yes. You always did enjoy attaching your name to worthy things.” There were people close enough to hear. She wanted an audience. I gave her nothing.
“Enjoy your evening.” Her jaw tightened. Then she leaned close. “You think the police can protect you from embarrassment?” I looked at her. “No. But apparently Bergdorf can.”
For the first time, her smile broke. She walked away. Maya, seated two chairs down, whispered, “That was petty.” “I know.” “I’m proud of you.”
Dinner began. For almost an hour, nothing happened. Then the foundation chair stepped onto the stage to introduce the annual giving award. My name appeared on the screen.
Applause rose around the room. I stood. Before I could reach the stage, another image replaced the award slide. A bank statement. My bank statement.
Gasps rippled through the ballroom. Then another slide appeared. A list of charges labeled PERSONAL SPENDING — SOPHIA BENNETT. Designer stores. Private clubs. Resorts. Spas.
Hundreds of thousands of dollars. My stomach dropped. The screen had been hijacked. A distorted voice came through the speakers. “Some philanthropists are generous only when the money belongs to someone else.”
People turned toward me. Victoria sat perfectly still at her table. Too still. I understood instantly. This was the revenge she had promised. She wanted to make me look like the thief.
Then the final slide appeared. A document showing funds transferred from Hale & Whitmore into an account connected to my name. SBH Consulting. Murmurs spread across the room.
The foundation chair signaled frantically to the AV team. The screen went black. I could have left. I could have let security escort me through the kitchen.
Instead, I walked onto the stage. Maya grabbed my wrist as I passed. “Do not discuss the investigation.” “I won’t.” I took the microphone.
The ballroom went quiet. “I apologize for the interruption,” I said. My voice sounded calmer than I felt. “The documents you just saw are part of an active fraud investigation. I have been advised not to discuss details.”
Victoria’s face changed. She had expected denial. Panic. Maybe tears. I continued. “What I can tell you is that unauthorized accounts were opened in my name, forged signatures are under review, and law enforcement is involved.”
The room became completely still. “And because the purpose of tonight is children’s medicine, not my divorce, I’m not going to give the people responsible for this stunt any more of your time.”
Someone started clapping. Then another person. Within seconds, the entire ballroom stood. Not for me. For the choice to keep the event from becoming a circus.
I stepped offstage. Victoria was gone. So was Richard. My phone buzzed. A text from Detective Ruiz. DO NOT LEAVE THE BUILDING. WE FOUND SOMETHING.
Ten minutes later, she met Maya and me in a private service corridor. “The AV system was accessed remotely,” Ruiz said. “The login came from a device registered to Hale & Whitmore.”
“Victoria?” “Maybe. But that’s not why I’m here.” She showed me a photograph on her phone. A storage unit. Metal shelving. File boxes. One box was open.
Inside were folders labeled with names. Mine was on top. “The Queens archive property was entered tonight,” Ruiz said. Richard appeared at the end of the corridor.
His face was white. “What happened?” Ruiz turned the phone toward him. “Someone started removing records.” Richard stared at the image. “I gave you the code.”
“Yes.” “Then how did they get in?” Ruiz swiped to the next image. Security footage. A man in a dark coat entering the facility.
Marcus Vale. Behind him walked a woman. Victoria. I felt a chill move through me. “She left the gala to destroy evidence.” Ruiz nodded.
“We had the building under observation.” “Did you arrest her?” “Not yet.” “Why?” “Because she didn’t destroy anything.” I frowned. “What did she do?”
Ruiz showed another image. Victoria standing in front of an open file box. Her hands were empty. Her face was turned toward someone outside the frame.
Then the final image. Richard. Inside the archive. I looked at him. He stopped breathing. “That’s not tonight,” he said. Ruiz’s eyes sharpened. “The timestamp says last night.”
Richard stared at the floor. I felt something inside me harden. “You told me you hadn’t been there in years.” He closed his eyes.
“I lied.” Maya stepped between us. “Everyone needs counsel before this conversation continues.” But I was already walking toward Richard. “What did you take?”
May you like
He looked at me. “Nothing.” “Then why were you there?” His face collapsed. “Because I was looking for one file.” “What file?” He swallowed.
“My father’s will.” I stared at him. “We already probated your father’s will.” “No.” Richard shook his head. “We probated the will my mother gave the court.” The service hallway seemed to tilt. “There was another one,” he said. “And in the original version, my father left you something.”
