Chapter 2 - The Badge in the Grand Gallery
The silence that rippled out from the grand foyer was sudden and suffocating.
Julian did not pause to remove his coat or hand his umbrella to the trembling coat-check attendant.
He shook the winter slush from his heavy leather boots and walked straight onto the Italian marble floor with deliberate authority.
His jaw was set like carved granite, his dark eyes scanning the ballroom until they found mine across the sea of frozen guests.
Beside him, the two federal marshals positioned themselves on either side of the wide oak staircase, effectively blocking the path to the second-floor executive suites.
Matthias’s fingers dropped away from my arm as if my skin had turned to white-hot metal.
"Serena," he rasped, his voice cracking into a high, thin register.
"What is your brother doing in this house?"
"You told me this was a critical night for corporate transparency, didn't you?"
I smoothed the velvet across my stomach, feeling my daughter settle down beneath my touch.
"Julian hasn't seen you since our wedding rehearsal four years ago."
"I thought it was time for a proper family reunion."
"This is a private residence," Matthias whispered, panic bleeding into his tone.
"My father has three former state supreme court judges standing near the bar."
"Your father can introduce them to Julian’s search warrants," I said evenly.
Across the room, Fiona Vale noticed the sudden shift in the room’s atmosphere.
She set her untouched champagne glass on a passing silver tray and clicked her designer heels across the floor toward us.
Her silk gown whispered against the marble, her gaze fixing on me with thinly veiled disgust.
"Matthias," Fiona said smoothly, her voice laced with honeyed venom.
"Who is that uncouth man standing at the entrance, and why are security letting him wander through your family’s private event?"
She turned her eyes on me, her gaze raking over my pregnant figure, lingering pointedly on my flat velvet pumps and unstyled hair.
"Serena, darling, you really shouldn't have strained yourself to come tonight."
"At thirty-two weeks, stress can be so devastating for a woman’s physical appearance."
She lifted one manicured hand to adjust her diamond necklace, letting the light catch the massive center stone directly in my eyes.
"Matthias told me you were resting comfortably at your mother’s cottage in Rhode Island."
I looked at the sparkling stones against her throat, then straight into her cold blue eyes.
"The necklace looks lovely on you, Fiona."
Her smile wavered for a fraction of a second.
"Thank you," she purred, recovering her poise with rehearsed elegance.
"It was a personal gift from an admirer who understands the true value of discretion."
"It’s an emerald-cut Graff setting, isn't it?" I asked, my voice carrying clearly to the surrounding circle of listening bankers.
"Purchased on November twenty-fourth at four-fifteen in the afternoon at the New Haven showroom."
"Paid in sequential hundred-dollar bills from a corporate blind trust registered under the name 'Vale Strategic Assets'."
Fiona’s hand dropped from her throat as if the diamonds had caught fire.
"I don't know what you're implying, Serena."
"I'm not implying anything, Fiona."
"I am reciting page twelve of the federal asset seizure notice currently resting in my brother’s briefcase."
Matthias grabbed my wrist, his grip shaking with undisguised rage.
"Shut your mouth right now," he snarled under his breath.
"My office," he snapped, jerking his head toward the double doors of the private library across the gallery.
"We are going into the library this second, Serena."
"Do not lay a hand on my sister again, Mr. Dre."
Julian’s voice cut through the air like a cold blade.
He had crossed the ballroom without making a sound, towering half a foot over Matthias.
Julian flashed his credentials directly in front of Matthias’s nose, his federal badge gleaming gold under the chandeliers.
"Special Agent Vance," Julian said, his voice flat, professional, and terrifyingly calm.
"You have five minutes to conduct this conversation in the library before my team seals the property perimeter."
Matthias swallowed hard, his eyes darting toward the far corner of the room where his father was watching them.
Richard Dre stood beneath an oil painting of his grandfather, his silver hair immaculate, his face unreadable as stone.
The old patriarch did not move to help his son.
He simply raised his scotch glass slightly, as if testing whether Matthias was strong enough to survive the storm.
"Fine," Matthias hissed, turning on his heel and striding toward the heavy mahogany doors of the library.
"Just the three of us."
"No," I said, gesturing toward Fiona, whose face was now pale under her expensive bronzer.
"Miss Vale should join us."
"After all, she’s handling your crisis communications."
"And I believe her crisis has officially begun."
Fiona looked at Matthias for protection, but he was already pushing open the library doors, desperate to escape the stares of his peers.
Julian held the door open for me, placing a gentle, protective hand on the small of my aching back.
"You holding up okay, Little Bird?" he whispered in the old childhood nickname he hadn't used in ten years.
"The baby is angry," I whispered back, biting the inside of my cheek to fight back the exhausting pain.
"Good," Julian murmured.
"Let her stay angry."
"Tonight, the Dre family is going to pay every debt they owe."
We stepped into the dimly lit, book-lined room, the smell of aged leather and pipe tobacco wrapping around us like a suffocating shroud.
Matthias slammed the heavy oak door shut behind us, locking the brass bolt with a violent click.
He turned on me, his eyes bloodshot, his composure completely shattered.
"Have you completely lost your mind?" he roared, pointing an accusing finger at my face.
"Do you have any idea what kind of damage you've done out there?"
"There are journalists outside the gates, Serena!"
"There are senators in that ballroom who control the regulatory approval for our five-hundred-million-dollar acquisition!"
"You bring your federal cop brother into my father's house on Christmas Eve because you're jealous of a necklace?"
"You think this is about a necklace, Matthias?"
I reached into my small velvet clutch, pulled out a thumb drive and a folded set of white papers, and threw them across his mahogany desk.
The papers slid across the polished wood, coming to rest directly against his silver desk lamp.
"Pick them up," I said softly.
May you like
"Pick them up and explain to your mistress why the suite in New Haven was booked under a corporate tax-evasion shell company."
"And while you're at it, explain why your signature is on the safety manifest that lists our daughter as an acceptable loss."
