Chapter 17 - The Handcuffs Return
The ovation lasted for seven full minutes. Flashbulbs blinded me as I walked toward the center of the runway, bowing with grace to the audience that had once turned away when Julian banished me to the standing section.
Now, they bowed to me.
As the show concluded and the applause slowly transitioned into the chaotic mingling of the post-show press, Victoria Vance tried to slip toward the private VIP exit, dragging Chloe behind her by the wrist.
"Leaving so soon, Victoria?" I called out, my voice clear over the departing chatter.
Victoria spun around, her eyes bloodshot with rage. "You think you’ve won something, Claire? A dress? A few positive reviews? My brother’s appeal hearing is tomorrow morning. His lawyers have filed sworn affidavits proving prosecutorial misconduct. Julian will be free by noon!"
"I wouldn't be so confident about that appeal," a new voice echoed from the corridor.
Inspector Gabriel Durand of the French Financial Brigade stepped through the VIP cordon, flanked by four uniformed officers.
Victoria froze. "Durand? What is the meaning of this insolence?"
"Victoria Vance," Inspector Durand said, pulling an international warrant from his coat. "Two hours ago, Sophie Moreau turned over her encrypted messaging logs, alongside the bank transfer receipts registered to your private offshore entity in Grand Cayman, which paid her fifty thousand euros to commit felony industrial sabotage."
Victoria’s breath caught in her throat. "That's absurd! I don't know any Sophie Moreau!"
"Furthermore," Durand continued, taking a step closer, "the French Financial Brigade executed a simultaneous raid on your Paris offices twenty minutes ago. We uncovered the encrypted server holding Julian Vance’s secondary ledger—the one documenting twelve million euros in money laundering for your private shell companies."
Chloe let out a terrified shriek and took two steps back, trying to distance herself from Victoria. "I didn't know! I swear I didn't know anything about money laundering! Victoria made me lie about the evidence!"
"Shut your mouth, you little peasant!" Victoria snarled, lunging toward Chloe, but an officer immediately grabbed Victoria’s arms and pinned them behind her back.
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The unmistakable, sharp *click* of steel handcuffs echoed across the Grand Palais lobby.
The remaining photographers turned their lenses like artillery fire, capturing Victoria Vance, the supreme matriarch of European luxury, being escorted into a police van in front of the world’s elite.
