Chapter 3 - The Vanishing Heiress
The woman on the floor stopped sobbing. In a split second, the terrified facade melted away completely. The frantic tears vanished, replaced by a cold, venomous smirk that sent a chill down the spines of everyone watching.
"Took you long enough, Callaway," she sneered, wiping smeared mascara from her cheek with the back of her glove. "I thought a billionaire hedge fund genius would have noticed his darling fiancée gained two inches in height and forgot how to speak conversational French."
"Marcus!" Nathaniel bellowed.
Instantly, six broad-shouldered men in tailored black suits emerged from the edges of the room, cutting off every exit. Marcus, Nathaniel’s trusted head of private security, stepped forward with his hand resting near his concealed holster.
"Lockdown the entire perimeter," Nathaniel instructed without breaking eye contact with the imposter. "Nobody leaves this hotel. Notify the police commissioner and seal every garage, elevator, and service tunnel."
"Already done, sir," Marcus answered crisply.
The imposter laughed, a dry, grating sound that echoed off the high vaulted ceilings. She slowly rose to her feet, kicking off her four-thousand-dollar designer heels. "You're too late, Nathaniel. The real Victoria Vance is halfway across the Atlantic on a private yacht. Do you really think she wanted to marry an emotionless workaholic who puts his senile grandmother above his own life?"
"Watch your tongue," Nathaniel warned, stepping closer, his jaw tight.
"Victoria sold her identity to the highest bidder three weeks ago," the woman taunted, tossing her dark hair back. "She walked away with forty million in untraceable cryptocurrency. All I had to do was wear the dress, walk down the aisle, and secure the Callaway family cipher hidden inside Eleanor’s necklace."
Rose, still holding Eleanor's hand, felt the older woman’s grip suddenly tighten with surprising force. Eleanor was trembling, but not from fear—from profound sorrow and shock.
"Eleanor, are you all right?" Rose asked gently, kneeling down beside the wheelchair.
"The necklace..." Eleanor whispered, her voice frail and raspy. "Rose, child... look at the pendant on the floor. Don't let her touch it."
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Rose turned her head toward the mess of shattered glass and spilled champagne. Among the debris, the diamond necklace sparkled beneath the chandeliers. But the platinum setting had split open on impact. Inside the hollow back of the largest emerald stone was a micro-engraved metallic seal—the master key to the Callaway global offshore trust fund.
The imposter noticed Rose looking. Her eyes flashed with desperate fury. Before security could react, she lunged toward the broken glass, clawing toward the jewelry like an animal.
