The heavy, thumping bass died instantly. The sudden silence that fell over the hundred guests was absolute, heavy, and incredibly uncomfortable. Conversations snapped shut. Heads turned. All eyes locked onto me.
I picked up the microphone. It whined for a second, a sharp screech of feedback that made several socialites wince.
I looked dead into Beatrice’s eyes. She was standing frozen by the bar, the smug smile slowly melting off her face.
“The party is over,” I said. My voice echoed off the mansion walls, amplified and laced with glacial authority. “You are all trespassing on private property. Please locate the exits immediately.”
A low murmur of confusion rippled through the crowd. Beatrice’s face flushed a violent, blotchy red. Her ego couldn’t handle the public humiliation. She marched forward, her mouth opening to scream, to assert her dominance in front of her friends.
“Victoria, how dare you!” she shrieked. “You can’t just—”
“Also, Beatrice?” I cut her off, the microphone easily overpowering her screech. “The multi-million dollar trust fund I set up for you? It has just been legally dissolved. The credit cards in your purse are currently declining. You are entirely, irrevocably penniless.”
The crowd gasped. An actual, collective intake of breath. Socialites stepped away from Beatrice as if poverty were a contagious disease.
Before Beatrice could even process the reality of her financial decapitation, the heavy iron gates at the front of the estate slammed open. Red and blue lights violently illuminated the manicured hedges as three police cruisers tore up the gravel driveway, tires screeching, sirens blaring their final, definitive notes.
Officers in heavy tactical vests poured out of the vehicles, jogging around the side of the house onto the patio.
I kept the microphone close to my mouth, my voice never rising above a calm, conversational volume. “And the police you hear? They are at the door to arrest you for felony child endangerment and conspiracy to commit assault.”
Beatrice’s arrogant facade didn’t just fade; it vanished completely. It was replaced by the hollow, gaping terror of a woman whose entire universe had just been atomized. She dropped her wine glass. It shattered on the stone patio.
“Victoria, no! No, wait, please!” she begged, her voice cracking as two officers flanked her.
“Ma’am, put your hands behind your back,” the taller officer commanded, pulling out a pair of heavy steel handcuffs.
“We are sisters! We are blood!” Beatrice wailed hysterically, thrashing against the officers as they roughly secured her wrists. “You can’t do this to family!”
“You aren’t my family,” I said into the mic, letting the words echo across the lawn as her wealthy friends watched in horrified fascination. “Take her off my property.”
