Chapter 9 - The Reed Charity Gala & The Wicked Stepmother’s Vicious Trap
The annual Reed Foundation Gala was held in the grand ballroom of the Drake
Hotel, the crown jewel of Chicago’s high society. But beneath the glittering
chandeliers and crystal champagne towers, a trap had been laid.
As Graham was pulled away by the Mayor for a private discussion on municipal
zoning, a woman with frozen platinum hair and diamond-encrusted fingers glided
toward me.
Eleanor Reed—Graham’s estranged stepmother and Marcus’s primary co-conspirator.
“Avery, dear,” Eleanor purred with a poisonous smile. “A word in private? It
concerns Graham’s mother.”
Before I could decline, Eleanor gestured toward a private VIP lounge off the
main ballroom. Sensing an opportunity to discover what Marcus was planning, I
signaled to Frank to stay by the door and stepped inside.
The moment the heavy soundproof door clicked shut, Marcus Reed stepped out from
the shadows of the lounge.
“Hello, little assistant,” Marcus sneered, swirling a glass of bourbon.
“I’m leaving,” I said coldly, turning back toward the door.
“You might want to see this first,” Marcus said, tossing a thick tablet onto the
glass table.
On the screen was an official wire transfer receipt showing five million dollars
deposited into my mother’s private bank account in Michigan two days
ago—originating from an offshore shell corporation linked to Marcus’s firm.
“What is this?” I demanded, my stomach dropping. “I never authorized this!”
“Of course you didn’t,” Marcus grinned wickedly. “I did. And in exactly ten
minutes, my tech team will leak this document along with an audio
recording—faked with voice AI, but completely indistinguishable—of you promising
to feed me Graham’s confidential patent files.”
“You’re framing me.”
“I’m destroying Graham,” Marcus corrected coldly. “When the media sees his
beloved new bride took a five-million-dollar bribe to betray the company, the
board will force his immediate resignation on moral and ethical grounds. And
you, little girl, will go to federal prison for corporate espionage.”
Marcus leaned in, his breath reeking of bourbon. “Unless… you sign this
confession stating Graham forced you into a sham marriage under duress. Do that,
and you walk away clean with the five million.”
I looked at the document, then looked up into Marcus’s arrogant face.
I picked up the tablet displaying the forged wire transfer, raised it above my
head, and smashed it violently against the marble edge of the table, shattering
the glass screen into a hundred pieces.
May you like
“You tell Graham yourself, Marcus,” I said with ice in my veins. “Because I
would rather go to war than ever betray the man I love.”
