You were born broken and left him empty-handed, so don't bring your bastard charity cases to my son's wedding.
Evelyn’s composure shattered first. Her face, usually a mask of aristocratic disdain, contorted into a fury I hadn’t seen since the divorce. Her hand instinctively flew to the pocket of her gown, pulling out her cell phone.
“You are trespassing!” she hissed, her voice low and dangerous. “And in direct violation of a court order! I’ll have you arrested immediately!” She began dialing, her thumb furiously hitting numbers. “Security! Get to the conservatory! Now!”
Andrew, however, didn’t react with anger. Panic bloomed on his face. He lunged forward, his perfectly tailored tuxedo straining as he reached for the documents on the table.
“Give me those!” he snapped, his voice cracking. He tried to snatch them, but I smoothly stepped back, just out of his reach.
“It’s too late,” I said, my voice calm and steady, a stark contrast to his rising fear. “Copies of that original medical forgery have already been dispatched. Digitally. To every major debtor listed in your personal ledgers.”
Andrew froze, his hand still hovering in the air. His eyes, wide with disbelief, met mine. He started to speak, but no sound came out.
I continued, watching Evelyn’s furious dialing hand pause mid-call, her head slowly lifting.
“Including,” I emphasized, “Victor Rossi.”
The name hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. Evelyn’s hand dropped from her phone, her color draining. Andrew swayed, clutching the edge of the mahogany table for support. The cheerful strains of the string quartet from outside seemed to mock the sudden, absolute silence in the room.
“Identical digital master files,” I reiterated, “along with detailed analyses of the Kensington family’s financial position, or rather, lack thereof, have been routed through automated server systems. They’re not just on one computer. They’re in three separate, encrypted offsite vaults, with timed releases to ensure delivery.”
This wasn’t a threat I could back down from. This wasn’t a paper document they could shred. This was digital, irretrievable. Andrew understood the implication immediately: his precarious house of cards, built on his mother’s wealth and his own desperate gambling, was about to come crashing down. He had zero net worth without the family’s assets, and the forged documents I held proved it. No assets, no collateral, no protection from a man like Victor Rossi.
Evelyn, usually so quick with a cutting remark or a legal maneuver, simply stared, her mouth slightly agape. For once, her legal threats and intimidation tactics were useless. They could not block what was already gone, already delivered, already out of their control.
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