Chapter 10 - THE GALA BECOMES A TRAP|
Gideon's chief operating officer, Richard Cole, had worked with the Ashford family for eighteen years.
He was not an obvious villain. He was measured, discreet, and almost obsessively loyal to the company.
That made the discovery more disturbing.
Gideon refused to confront him immediately.
"We need proof," he said. "If Richard is involved, he may know we're investigating."
We arranged for the security consultant to give a recorded statement to Rebecca and Gideon's legal team. He confirmed that Martin Kessler had paid him to retrieve my phone from the hospital.
But he also said Richard Cole had approved the payment.
"Why?" I asked.
The consultant shook his head.
"Kessler told me the memory card contained information that could damage a pending acquisition. Cole said Ashford Capital needed to keep its name out of the investigation."
Gideon looked as if someone had struck him.
"Richard said that?"
"Yes."
The consultant provided copies of the payment records.
It was enough to justify an internal investigation, but not enough to prove that Richard knew what happened inside the burning building.
Meanwhile, Preston's board vote was approaching.
The gala would take place the following evening. Cassidy had spent weeks promoting it as the most glamorous event of the year.
The guest list included investors, politicians, celebrities, and senior executives from major financial institutions.
Preston expected the photographs to show him standing beside Cassidy while I stayed hidden at home.
Instead, I decided to attend.
Rebecca was against it at first.
"You don't owe those people a public appearance."
"I know."
"Then why go?"
"Because Cassidy made the dress code a weapon. I refuse to let her decide whether I can enter a room."
Gideon offered to arrange security.
I refused the suggestion that I hide behind a bodyguard, but agreed to have someone nearby.
We visited a designer who specialized in eveningwear for women with surgical scars. She created a midnight-blue gown with an open back and a carefully structured silhouette. It did not conceal my scars. It framed them without apology.
When I saw myself in the mirror, I felt something unfamiliar.
Not shame.
Not pride, exactly.
Freedom.
The gown revealed the full pattern of my injuries, and I decided not to cover them.
On the evening of the gala, Preston arrived at the hotel with Cassidy.
She wore a sparkling silver dress and rested one hand over her stomach. Cameras flashed as she stepped onto the carpet.
Then she saw me.
Her smile vanished.
Preston turned.
For several seconds, he didn't move.
"What are you doing here?" he whispered when I approached.
"Attending the gala."
"You can't wear that."
I looked at him.
"Why? You and Cassidy wrote the dress code."
Cassidy's expression tightened.
"We didn't expect you to actually come."
"I know."
She glanced at my back, then leaned toward Preston.
"Make her leave."
He caught my arm.
"Vivian, this is not the place."
I removed his hand.
"Then you should have chosen somewhere else to humiliate me."
A photographer called for us to pose.
Preston forced a smile.
I stood beside him, my scars visible beneath the lights.
Cassidy's face was rigid.
Then Gideon entered the ballroom.
He walked straight toward the stage, carrying a document folder.
Preston saw him and went pale.
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Because Gideon wasn't there as a guest.
He was the keynote sponsor—and the largest independent investor in the company Preston was trying to control.
