Chapter 119
Chapter 119:
Isolde looked at the chart. Table 18 was tucked in the far back corner, beside the swinging doors of the kitchen. It was the table reserved for distant cousins and the disgraced.
Table 1 was front and center. Grayson, Belle, and Alistair.
Across the room, she could see Grayson arguing quietly with his father, gesturing toward the seating arrangement, his face tight with frustration. Alistair simply shook his head — a final, dismissive gesture. Grayson’s plan to present a united front had been overruled by the family patriarch.
“Of course,” Isolde said, smiling thinly. “He wants to put me in the trash p>
𝖶𝗵a𝗍 е𝗏𝘦𝗋𝘺o𝗇𝘦 𝗂𝘀 𝗿ea𝖽𝗂ո𝗴 𝗼𝘯 𝗴a𝗅ոo𝗏𝘦𝘭ѕ.c𝘰m
“I can try to have it moved p>
“No,” Isolde said. “It’s perfect. I have a better view of the stage from there p>
She walked to Table 18 and settled in beside Effie.
From across the ballroom, Belle raised her champagne flute in a slow, mocking toast.
Isolde didn’t respond. She checked her watch.
Eight o’clock.
Arland was five minutes away.
Alistair Lancaster was wheeled onto the stage. He was eighty years old, shriveled by time, though his eyes remained sharp and cruel as ever.
He gave a speech about family and legacy. He did not mention Isolde once.
“And now,” the MC announced, “the presentation of gifts p>
This was Lancaster tradition — a public display of wealth and loyalty, performed with pageantry for every assembled guest.
Daron McKnight presented a gold polo trophy. A cousin offered a vintage watch. Then it was Grayson and Belle’s turn.
They walked up together, Belle carrying a box of polished purple wood.
“Happy birthday, Alistair,” Belle purred into the microphone. “I found this at Sotheby’s — a Ming Dynasty Jade Buddha, for your health.” The crowd murmured with admiration. It was worth at least half a million dollars.
Alistair nodded, visibly pleased. “Exquisite p>
Daron seized the microphone. He was drunk. “And what about the wife? Where is Isolde? Did she bring anything besides her bad attitude p>
The spotlight swung to Table 18.
Isolde sat there, caught in the harsh light, her hands empty.
The room tittered.
“She’s broke,” someone whispered.
Isolde rose. She smoothed the front of her black dress, took Effie’s hand, and walked toward the stage. The clicking of her heels was the only sound in the room.
She stopped at the base of the stairs and looked up at Alistair.
“I didn’t bring a trinket,” Isolde said, her voice carrying clearly across the ballroom without the aid of a microphone. “I brought you a future p>
“What are you talking about?” Alistair grunted.
“Look outside.” Isolde gestured toward the massive floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the lawn.
“Fireworks?” Belle scoffed. “How tacky p>
“No,” Isolde said. “Not fireworks p>
At that moment, the double doors of the ballroom burst open.
Arland Roth strode in, flanked by two men in military uniforms — generals. He carried a leather portfolio in one hand.
“Happy birthday, Mr. Lancaster,” Arland said, moving to Isolde’s side. “On behalf of Isolde Carson and Orbital Systems, we present to you the future of your national defense p>
“What contract?” Grayson stepped forward, his expression clouded with confusion.