Chapter 2 - The Lambs in the Lion’s Den
The Grand Ballroom of the Fairmont Copley Plaza was a cathedral of gilded mirrors, crystal chandeliers, and white orchids. Four hundred of Boston’s most elite figures—senators, venture capitalists, real estate tycoons, and old-money socialites—filtered through the velvet-roped entrance, sipping champagne while a string quartet played softly in the background.
Near the back corner of the room, far from the central head table, stood Patrick Bellamy, his mother Judith, and Vanessa Crowe.
Patrick was adjusting his silk bow tie in the reflection of a champagne glass, his eyes constantly scanning the VIP mezzanine.
“Are you sure Mr. Alden is attending tonight, Patrick?” Judith asked, smoothing her velvet skirt with an air of self-importance. “If we don't secure his firm's backing, the board at Vanguard is going to reassign your portfolio.”
“He’ll be here, Mother,” Patrick said, though a bead of sweat was forming near his hairline. “The Alden Foundation is the primary benefactor of the hospital wing being named tonight. Julian Alden himself is supposed to make the opening speech.”
Vanessa leaned against Patrick’s arm, running a red-nailed finger along his lapel. Her pale blue dress was flawless—she had spent three hours at a salon after leaving the Brookline house. “Don't worry, darling. Once Julian sees the proposal we put together, he’ll realize Vanguard is the only firm capable of handling his liquidity.”
Patrick smiled, though an uncomfortable flicker of annoyance crossed his face as he remembered the scene in his hallway hours earlier. “I just hope Rebecca doesn't pull something foolish. Leaving with Emma like that... she has no money, no credit cards under her own name. She’ll probably be sleeping at a shelter by morning.”
“Good riddance,” Judith sneered, taking a glass of wine from a passing waiter. “The girl was a leech. Seven years of living off your salary, and she couldn't even keep her child from ruining Vanessa’s gown. You should have served those separation papers months ago.”
“She’ll sign them,” Patrick said coldly. “She has no choice. I gave her seven years of a comfortable home. Without me, she’s nobody.”
Suddenly, the hushed chatter in the ballroom died down.
The heavy oak doors at the main entrance swung wide open. Four private security guards in charcoal suits stepped through, creating a wide berth.
The master of ceremonies stepped to the microphone, his voice echoing over the loudspeaker.
“Ladies and gentlemen... announcing the Chairman of Alden Global Infrastructure, Sir Julian Alden... accompanied by his daughter and sole heir, Miss Rebecca Alden.”
Patrick turned toward the doors with a practiced, sycophantic smile, raising his glass to catch the billionaire’s eye.
Then, his smile froze.
The glass slipped from Patrick’s fingers, crashing against the hardwood floor, spraying champagne over the hem of Judith’s dress.
Walking side by side down the red carpet was Julian Alden and a woman who looked as though she had been sculpted from diamonds and dark velvet.
She wore an off-the-shoulder midnight-blue silk gown that flowed like water around her ankles. Around her slender neck sat a collar of pear-shaped sapphires worth more than Patrick’s entire brokerage firm. Her dark hair was swept up in an elegant, regal chignon, highlighting high cheekbones, striking eyes, and an expression of terrifying, absolute authority.
Clutched in her right hand was the small, soft hand of a five-year-old girl in a matching white lace dress, wearing shiny patent-leather shoes.
“P-Patrick...” Judith gasped, her face draining of all color as she clutched her son’s arm. “Patrick... is that... is that Rebecca?”
Patrick couldn't speak. His throat felt as though it had been filled with wet sand. His eyes bulged as he stared at the woman he had belittled, starved, and financially strangled for seven long years.
“No...” Vanessa whispered, her eyes wide with sudden, sickening horror as she looked at Emma’s face—the face of the child she had struck across the cheek just hours ago. “No, that’s impossible! She’s a nobody! She was a broke student!”
Rebecca didn't look toward the back corner. She didn't grant them even a glance. She walked with effortless grace beside Julian Alden, taking her seat at Table One—the massive, elevated round table at the very center of the ballroom, reserved exclusively for royalty and global titans.
Patrick’s mind whirled in violent, unravelling chaos.
Rebecca Vance was Rebecca Alden.
The woman whose allowance he had capped at two hundred dollars a week... the woman he had mocked for her unfinished degree... was the sole heiress to a forty-billion-dollar fortune.
“Patrick!” Judith hissed, her hands shaking violently. “Did you know?! Did you know who her father was?!”
“No!” Patrick stammered, panic rising like bile in his throat. “She never told me! She said her parents were gone!”
“You idiot!” Judith choked out, grabbing his lapel. “You treated her like a servant! You let Vanessa bring separation papers into her house! If Julian Alden finds out what we did—”
“He won't,” Patrick said, though his knees were knocking together. He swallowed hard, trying to regain his composure. “She... she loved me for seven years. She’s meek. She’s soft. She stayed because she was devoted to me. She’s just trying to intimidate me because she’s angry about the separation papers.”
Patrick straightened his jacket, pulling a fresh handkerchief to wipe the cold sweat from his forehead.
May you like
“I’m going over there,” Patrick declared, trying to sound confident. “She’s still my wife under the law. Whatever money her father has, half of it belongs to our marital estate.”
Greed, black and desperate, began to eclipse Patrick’s fear. He looked at Vanessa, then at Judith. “Follow me. We act as if nothing is wrong. We remind her of her place.”
