I looked at Walter.
“But before I married into this family, my name was Chloe Vance.”
That name did not mean much to everyone.
But it meant something to the bankers.
It meant something to the developers.
It meant something to the men who read private investment reports and pretended not to fear people richer than them.
A gray-haired man near the fireplace lowered his glass.
“Vance?” he murmured.
I continued.
“Three years ago, after my parents died, I became chairwoman and majority owner of Ivy Capital.”
The room changed temperature.
Ivy Capital was not a company people laughed at. It was the investment fund that bought failing companies before breakfast and made arrogant CEOs sweat through their shirts by lunch. Its president had never appeared publicly. No interviews. No gala photos. No magazine covers.
Just signatures.
Just money.
Just power.
And now I stood in front of them with a bloody lip.
Ethan stared at me like I had become a stranger.
But I had not changed.
He had just never bothered to see me.
“One year ago,” I said, “Hamilton Construction was drowning. Bank debt. Vendor lawsuits. Payroll delays. Hidden losses. Your charming host, Walter Hamilton, was weeks away from bankruptcy.”
Walter’s face turned purple.
“That is confidential!”
“No,” I said. “It was confidential. Then your son slapped the lender in public.”
Someone gasped.
I saw Mr. Daven slowly sit back in his chair.
I looked at him.
“Mr. Daven, you should know the Hamiltons were not courting you tonight from strength. They were trying to use this party to create the illusion of solvency.”
His expression darkened.
Walter shouted, “Enough!”
I raised one finger.
