Chapter 7 - The Gala of Reckoning
The Plaza Hotel’s Grand Ballroom was glittering with silver garlands, crystal chandeliers, and three hundred of New York’s most elite financial figures for the annual New Year’s Eve Leadership Gala.
Cole had managed to scrape together enough cash by selling his luxury watch collection to rent a tuxedo and bribe a low-level event organizer to keep his name on the guest list. He knew that if he could just secure one high-net-worth investor tonight, he could start a new firm and bounce back. He was charming, articulate, and desperate.
Sierra accompanied him, wearing a bright red silk gown, trying desperately to look like she belonged among the old-money crowd.
"Just stay by my side and look pretty," Cole hissed to Sierra as they stepped into the ballroom. "I see Richard Sterling over by the bar. If I can get Sterling Capital to back my new venture, we’re back in business."
Cole walked up to Richard Sterling, an elder statesman of Wall Street and a former colleague of my late father.
"Richard!" Cole said, putting on his warmest, most confident smile, holding out his hand. "Great to see you. I wanted to briefly discuss the market restructuring we spoke about last month—"
Richard Sterling didn't take Cole’s hand. He lowered his champagne glass, looking at Cole with cold, unblinking disdain.
"Whitmore," Richard said, his voice carrying clearly across the surrounding circle of executives. "I’m surprised you have the nerve to show your face in this room."
Cole’s smile faltered slightly. "Richard, whatever rumors you’ve heard about the restructuring at Whitmore Capital, I assure you it’s just a temporary corporate shift—"
"I’m not talking about your firm, Cole," Richard interrupted sternly. "I’m talking about how you treated William Bennett’s daughter."
Before Cole could answer, the double mahogany doors at the entrance of the ballroom swung open.
The room fell into a hush as two security guards cleared the pathway.
I stepped into the ballroom.
I was wearing a floor-length emerald green velvet gown that draped perfectly over my shoulders. My dark hair was swept up in an elegant vintage twist, secured with my grandmother’s emerald-and-diamond hairpins. I carried myself with total, effortless grace. Walking beside me was Arthur Harris, along with three uniformed officers from the Manhattan District Attorney’s Financial Crimes Division.
Cole stared at me, his mouth opening slightly in absolute shock. He had never seen me look like this. I wasn't his quiet, submissive wife in a messy sweatshirt. I was the heir to the Bennett Trust, commanding the absolute attention of every person in the room.
"Lauren?" Cole stammered, taking an instinctual step forward.
I walked directly toward him, the crowd parting around us like the sea. Sierra stepped back, suddenly looking tiny and out of place in her loud red dress.
I stopped three feet from Cole, looking him dead in the eye.
"Good evening, Cole," I said, my voice rich, calm, and effortlessly carrying across the silent room.
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"Lauren... what is the meaning of this?" Cole whispered, his arrogance trying one last time to surface. "You’re making a spectacle of yourself. Stop this right now and talk to me in private."
"I don't do business in private with criminals anymore, Cole," I replied coolly.
