Chapter 8 - Rats in a Burning House

The ballroom erupted into chaos.
Grant lunged at Marcus, but several guests and security guards rushed forward to pull them apart. Grant was screaming, his face purple with rage, his custom gold-threaded tuxedo twisting as he struggled.
“I’ll kill you!” Grant roared. “I’ll ruin you! I own Vanguard! I’ll fire you today!”
“Actually, you don't,” Daniel’s voice cut through the noise. He walked up to the altar, holding a tablet displaying a live financial terminal. “As of 4:00 PM today, Vanguard Holdings has been placed into receivership due to your unauthorized use of corporate funds and default on your commercial loans. The family trust has seized all assets, licenses, and intellectual property.”
Daniel looked at Marcus. “And that includes your employment contract, Marcus. You’re fired. Effective immediately.”
Marcus’s smirk finally vanished. “You can’t do that. I have a voting proxy.”
“Your proxy was authorized by Grant,” Daniel said. “Grant no longer has any voting shares to delegate. You have nothing.”
Vivian was screaming now, grabbing Celeste’s arm and shaking her. “You trash! You lying, deceitful trash! You brought this bastard into our family!”
Celeste slapped Vivian’s hand away, her beautiful bridal facade completely disintegrating. “Get off me, you old bat! You think I wanted your family name? You guys are broke! Grant owes more money than the company is worth! I only stayed because of the trust fund!”
“There is no trust fund for you, Celeste,” I said, stepping closer. “And as for the penthouse you’ve been living in... the eviction notice was served to your doorman ten minutes ago. Your bags are currently being moved to a storage locker in Queens. I suggest you find a cheap motel.”
Grant was shaking, his knees buckling as the reality of his total ruin washed over him. He looked at me, his eyes pleading. “Clara... please. We can talk about this. Lily... Lily is my daughter. I want to be a father to her. We can rebuild...”
“You called her useless, Grant,” I said, my voice cold and flat. “You threw her birth certificate in my face. You don't get to be her father. You don't even get to use her name.”
I turned my back on him. I walked down the aisle, holding Lily close to my chest.
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Behind me, the St. Regis ballroom was filled with the sounds of screaming, crying, and the shutter click of several high-society journalists who had been invited to cover the ""wedding of the year.""
They had their story. But it wasn't the one Grant had planned to sell.