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Chapter 691
Chapter 691:
She stepped forward. The heels of her boots clicked against the floor as she walked directly toward Victoria, her posture radiating an overwhelming, predatory dominance.
Victoria instinctively retreated a step, unnerved by the complete absence of fear in Isolde’s eyes.
Isolde did not whisper. She spoke clearly, her voice cutting through the noise of the alarm, ensuring every smartphone microphone in the hallway captured every word.
“Victoria,” Isolde said, her tone saturated with contempt. “Before you call the police, perhaps we should discuss the Sotheby’s auction last November p>
𝘔𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗻𝗈𝘃el𝘴 𝗼n
Victoria’s screaming stopped instantly. Her mouth hung open.
“Perhaps we should discuss the thirty million dollars you embezzled from the Lancaster Art Foundation to cover your baccarat debts in Macau,” Isolde continued, her voice a relentless hammer. “The money you routed through a shell company in Cyprus p>
The color drained from Victoria’s face so rapidly she looked like a corpse. Her knees buckled slightly.
“Shut up,” Victoria hissed, her voice a terrified, breathless rasp. “You are lying p>
Isolde reached into her coat pocket and produced her encrypted phone.
“I have the offshore routing numbers,” Isolde stated coldly. “If I press send, the federal wire fraud division receives the PDF. You will trade that mink coat for an orange jumpsuit before dinner p>
Victoria began to shake violently. She lunged forward, grabbing for the phone, but the hospital security guards shoved her back.
“Grayson will destroy you!” Victoria sobbed, completely unraveling. “He will bury you in court! You are his wife! You cannot do this to his family p>
Isolde let out a short, sharp laugh.
“That is the second mistake you made today,” Isolde announced to the entire room.
She held her phone up.
“Grayson and I have already signed a binding divorce agreement,” Isolde declared. The words rang through the hallway. “I am not his wife. I am a private citizen in possession of a felon’s financial records p>
The crowd in the corridor gasped. The smartphones recorded every second. The Lancaster marriage was a fiction.
Victoria stared at Isolde in absolute, paralyzed horror, her mind unable to process the destruction of everything she believed to be solid.
Isolde tapped her screen, dialed Grayson’s private number, and pressed speakerphone.
The line rang once.
“Isolde?” Grayson’s voice barked through the speaker. He sounded stressed and immediately on edge.
“Grayson,” Isolde said, her voice carrying evenly through the silent room. “I am at the Mount Sinai VIP lounge. Your mother just attempted to physically assault me in public p>
Grayson’s sharp intake of breath was clearly audible over the speaker.
“I am giving you exactly ten minutes to get here and remove her from my presence,” Isolde commanded, her voice absolute ice. “If you are not here in ten minutes, I am posting the Sotheby’s embezzlement files publicly, followed immediately by the unredacted PDF of our divorce agreement p>
“Isolde, wait—” Grayson’s voice pitched with panic.
“Ten minutes,” Isolde interrupted. “Tick tock p>
She hung up.
Isolde looked down at Victoria, who was now leaning heavily against one of her bodyguards, hyperventilating. Isolde leaned in just close enough for only Victoria to hear.