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I nodded toward Malik.
The enormous screen behind the floral arch came to life.
First came the boutique footage.
Vanessa’s voice echoed through the venue.
“Pick up my train, you clumsy old bat.”
Gasps swept through the crowd.
Onscreen, her foot struck the cane.
My mother fell.
Vanessa stood above her like royalty looking down on dirt.
Then came the lie.
“I was just helping her balance, babe.”
Vanessa turned pale.
Celeste jumped to her feet.
“This is illegal! This is defamation!”
Rachel, my attorney, stood from the front row with the calm patience of an executioner.
“It is security footage from a private fitting room released with the boutique owner’s consent and Mrs. Elena Vale’s written permission. Please sit down.”
Celeste sat.
The screen changed again.
Emails.
Messages.
Legal drafts.
PR strategies.
Her plans to portray me as violent.
Her efforts to destroy the prenup.
Her scheme to exploit my underground fighting history.
A reporter in the third row raised his phone.
Vanessa spun toward me.
“You’re insane.”
“No,” I replied. “Just thorough.”
She abandoned the innocent act.
“Do you know what I can do to you?”
“Yes.”
I accepted a folder from Rachel.
“That is why your trust access was frozen this morning. The apartment transfer was canceled. Your corporate-adjacent privileges were revoked. Your mother’s consulting contract with my foundation has been terminated for misrepresentation. Your father’s investment proposal is being reviewed by compliance due to undisclosed conflicts.”
Her mouth opened.
No words emerged.
I continued.
“The charity board has also received evidence that your family used my name to solicit donations for a foundation event that does not exist.”
Celeste clutched her pearls.
Her husband stood.
“Now listen here—”
“No,” my mother said.
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