Chapter 14 - The Gala at the Met
Forty-eight hours later, the annual Metropolitan Cultural Preservation Gala illuminated Fifth Avenue with blinding camera flashes, red carpets, and the gathered elite of global finance.
I arrived on the arm of Alexander. I wore an architectural gown of midnight-blue silk, my hair swept up into an austere chignon, my posture imperial. Beside me, Alexander looked formidable in his black tuxedo, his gaze sweeping the room like a hawk guarding its nest. We did not look like a family under siege; we looked like monarchs who owned the ground beneath our feet.
Murmurs rippled through the grand hall the moment we entered beneath the towering arches. The society pages had expected me to hide in my penthouse, waiting for the custody summons. Instead, I had walked directly into their arena.
"Look at the north terrace," Alexander murmured near my ear, his breath warm against my neck. "Sterling Brooks just arrived. And he didn't come alone."
I turned my gaze smoothly, holding a flute of sparkling water.
Standing on the raised marble pavilion was Sterling Brooks, his arrogant, aristocratic jaw set in a smug grin. On his arm was Elena Moreau. She was draped in diamonds, smiling with the predatory confidence of a woman who believed she had cornered the lioness.
Around her neck hung a magnificent cascade of blue sapphires and platinum.
My breath stilled. That necklace had been custom-made for my mother by Cartier in 1984. It had mysteriously disappeared from my father’s townhome three weeks after his funeral—around the time Carter had offered to 'help sort through the family safe.'
"She has the audacity to wear your mother’s jewels in public," Alexander growled, his knuckles whitening against his glass.
"Audacity born of ignorance," I replied, feeling a cold, electrifying calm settle over my veins. "She thinks that necklace proves she has the upper hand. She doesn't know what is inside the clasp."
Before Alexander could ask, Elena spotted us. Leaving Sterling to converse with a senator, she glided across the polished marble floor toward us, her smile sweet and dripping with venom.
"Claire, darling," Elena purred, pausing two feet away, her eyes raking over me. "I’m surprised to see you out. Shouldn't you be at home, preparing your witness statements for the family court judge? I hear the Vance heritage claims are... rather persuasive."
"Elena," I said evenly. "You look remarkably healthy for a woman who claimed to be bankrupt in federal court six months ago."
Her smile tightened, but she tapped the sapphire pendant against her collarbone. "Fortune favors the resilient, Claire. You may have the Mercer name, but Carter’s mother and I have the law on our side. Victoria carries Vance blood. And that blood entitles us to a seat at your table."
"You don't want a seat at my table," I said quietly, stepping forward until I was inches from her face. "And Victoria will never know the foul stench of your presence. Did Carter give you that necklace?"
Elena smiled triumphantly. "A gift of devotion. A reminder of who he truly loved while he slept in your bed."
"That necklace," I said, loud enough for three nearby board members and a prominent federal judge to hear clearly, "was logged as stolen property in Manhattan precinct nineteen four years ago. It contains a micro-inscribed serial number and a GPS tracking chip commissioned by Lloyd’s of London for museum-grade insurance."
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Elena froze, her hand halting on the gems.
"And right now," I continued, gesturing slightly toward the entrance where two uniformed detectives and a plainclothes investigator were walking in, "the NYPD is here to execute a grand larceny warrant on the woman wearing it."
