Chapter 5 - The Mask SlipsThe ballroom fell into an absolute, graveyard silence.
On the massive screen, the crystal-clear audio and video played in real-time. Millions of dollars in glittering chandeliers illuminated the ugly truth: Fiona standing in our laundry room, laughing cruelly as Teresa struggled to lift soaking wet blankets with shaking, arthritic hands. Grace unlocking our back door with a stolen key, dumping dirty laundry onto our floor, and snapping orders like a feudal tyrant.
“That's what you're paid for,” Fiona’s recorded voice sneered across the silent auditorium. “People like you should be grateful we give you something to do.”
Teresa’s quiet, broken sobs echoed through the massive speakers, wrapping around the room like an indictment of every privileged person sitting in the audience.
Grace’s hands began to shake violently. She grabbed her champagne flute, but her fingers lost their grip, and the glass shattered against the floor with a sharp, explosive crash.
“Turn that off!” Grace screamed, lunging toward the stage like a cornered animal. “Turn that off right now, you ungrateful, wretched boy!”
Before she could reach the stairs, two plainclothes detectives stepped forward, gently but firmly blocking her path, flashing their badges in the bright ballroom light.
“Grace Worthington, you are under arrest for grand larceny, wire fraud, conspiracy, and extortion,” Detective Vance’s voice boomed across the microphone as he walked up the center aisle.
Simultaneously, three other officers ascended the stage from the side wings, moving directly toward Fiona.
Fiona backed away, her designer gown tangling around her ankles, her face slick with cold sweat. “You can’t do this! We’re the Worthingtons! We built this city!”
“You built an empire on fraud, forgery, and the exploitation of people you considered invisible,” Detective Vance said coldly, slapping steel handcuffs around Fiona’s wrists with a crisp, metallic click.
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As Fiona was led away in tears—her mascara running down her face, screaming obscenities at the guests who were now turning their backs in disgust—Grace collapsed back into her chair, defeated, her hands trembling in her lap as the second set of handcuffs was secured around her wrists.
The glittering elite of Bellweather sat in stunned horror, watching the untouchable Worthington dynasty crumble into dust in less than five minutes.
