Chapter 7 - The Gala of Ruin
My mind raced as I read the classified dossier in the back of the town car.
Samantha was secretly working for the FBI to build a massive racketeering case against the Fairchild family.
She had infiltrated Brendan's life, pushing him to embezzle money so she could track the digital paper trail.
She didn't care that her operation cost my daughter her life.
She only cared about getting the evidence she needed to secure her promotion.
"If the FBI extracts her tonight, Brendan will cut a plea deal and avoid prison," Raymond warned.
"I won't let that happen," I vowed, my voice cold as ice.
We arrived at the grand ballroom of the downtown plaza.
Hundreds of wealthy investors and politicians were sipping champagne under crystal chandeliers.
Brendan was standing on the main stage, wearing a forced smile and a tailored tuxedo.
He looked bruised and exhausted from his encounter with Viktor, but he was desperately trying to save face.
Samantha stood near the emergency exit, looking at her phone and waiting for her FBI handlers.
I walked straight through the center of the ballroom, ignoring the gasps and whispers of the elite crowd.
I stepped onto the stage and grabbed the microphone right out of Brendan's hand.
"Good evening, everyone," I announced, my voice echoing through the massive speakers.
"My husband invited you here tonight to celebrate the Fairchild legacy."
Brendan panicked and signaled his security guards to rush the stage.
But Viktor Volkov’s men were already positioned at every door, blocking the guards from moving an inch.
"But the Fairchild legacy is built on the blood of my three-year-old daughter," I declared.
I pressed a button on a remote control I had brought with me.
The massive projector screen behind the stage illuminated the dark room.
It played the security footage from Brendan's office, showing him and Ximena laughing as they denied Chloe's medical requests.
The audio was crisp and undeniable.
The wealthy donors in the audience gasped in horror, dropping their champagne flutes in sheer disgust.
Brendan's reputation evaporated in a matter of seconds.
He looked out at the angry crowd, realizing his life of privilege was completely over.
He suddenly snapped.
Brendan lunged toward a nearby security guard and ripped a loaded handgun from the man's holster.
He pointed the weapon wildly at the crowd, causing mass panic and screaming.
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He didn't aim the gun at me.
He ran across the stage, grabbed Samantha by the hair, and pressed the barrel of the gun against her temple.
