Chapter 6 - The Fall of the Golden Girl
The silence that followed Darren’s confession was absolute, broken only by the distant sound of thunder rolling across the dark harbor outside.
Arthur Vance Jr. stepped forward, his face dark with corporate fury. He looked at Layla, who was now backed against the edge of the stage, breathing in shallow, panicked gasps, her white lace wedding gown looking less like a symbol of romance and more like a straitjacket.
"Miss Hail," the billionaire CEO said, his voice dropping into a tone of lethal professionalism. "Is any of this true?"
"Arthur... please... don't listen to them," Layla begged, dropping to her knees on the stage, clutching at the hem of his tailored suit pants. "They're trying to destroy Ellery BioSystems! They're enemies of the company!"
Marcus stepped up beside the CEO, handing him a separate tablet. "These are the internal security logs showing unauthorized access to restricted genetic archives, corporate embezzlement records, and illegal transfer approvals executed under your administrative override, Arthur—all initiated by Miss Hail while positioning herself for the executive board."
Arthur Vance Jr. scrolled through the tablet for ten seconds. When he looked up, his expression was colder than ice.
"Call the federal marshals," the CEO instructed his chief of legal counsel. "And lock down every server terminal in the R&D wing immediately."
Before security could even take a step toward the stage, two Charleston police officers pushed through the crowd, their heavy boots stepping onto the polished wood. They bypassed Darren, bypassed my weeping mother, and walked straight up the steps of the stage.
They stopped in front of Layla.
"Layla Hail," the lead officer stated clearly, pulling a pair of steel handcuffs from his belt. "You are under arrest for attempted murder, wire fraud, identity theft, and corporate embezzlement. You have the right to remain silent..."
The click of the handcuffs closing around my fake sister's wrists sounded like the closing of a vault door.
As they hauled her away—her white lace veil dragging across the floor, her screams echoing off the glass walls of the pavilion—she didn't look at my parents. She didn't look at her new husband, who was currently standing near the bar looking like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole.
She looked at me.
May you like
Her eyes weren't filled with sadness or regret. They burned with a cold, everlasting hatred—the look of a parasite that had finally been ripped from its host.
Then the doors swung shut, and she was gone.
