53 - Peyton
PEYTON
I froze on my way to the stage. Two men were standing guard there. One of them was Roman.
The other was Colson.
He smiled gently as they moved aside, ushering me upward. Roman reached out as I ascended the staircase, and pressed something into my hand. By the time I reached the top of the steps, I realized what it was.
The silver locket.
“Ladies and gentleman…” Donovan began, cheerily. “I—”
Halfway through his sentence, Theo cut the mic. The silence was instant. A few people laughed, softly, thinking it was a technical glitch. As the seconds stretched out, murmurs began in the crowd.
Donovan blinked a few times, tapping his microphone, looking annoyed and embarrassed. He searched for answers, looking left and right. Trying to find his people.
Then he saw me, and his face went utterly slack.
“You’re on,” Theo said softly, into my ear.
I didn’t need to speak into the microphone. One was already installed, right in the broach, pinned to my dress.
“Hello everyone. My name is Peyton Kingsley.”
My voice filled the room from all directions. Clean. Clear. Impossible to ignore.
The crowd gasped, in unison. All eyes turned away from Donovan…
… and onto me.
“Technical difficulties,” I smirked, nodding toward Donovan. “Hey, shit happens.”
A few scattered laughs rose from the crowd. They were nervous laughs, though.
“I haven’t seen you since the wedding,” I began. “Sorry about that. I’ve been… busy.”
For the first time since the altar, I turned to face Donovan. As his initial confusion turned into a murderous glare, I widened my smile.
“Was the cake any good?” I asked him directly. “I’m pretty sure it was the best part of that wedding.”
More scattered laughter. More murmurs.
“You came here tonight to celebrate generosity,” I said loudly, turning back to the crowd. “Vision. Leadership.”
I paused between each word. With the sound system, they fell like thunderclaps.
“Integrity.”
The crowd shifted beneath me. I saw the glow of screens reflected on faces as phones started coming out.
They were recording this.
Good.
“Donovan Prescott built his reputation on these things,” I kept going. “You invested in them.”
A hand touched my arm. Donovan’s hand.
I yanked away from him so violently, he flushed a bright, cherry red.
“I just thought you should know what they actually bought you.”
In my ear, I heard Theo’s voice: “First wave, live.”
The glow on the faces before me began to flicker, wildly. Behind me, the screen hanging over the stage started shifting and changing.
Donovan looked up at it, his face alive with shock.
“What you’re seeing are offshore accounts,” I spoke calmly. “Nassau. Zurich. Dubai.”
The murmurs in the crowd grew louder. More phones began filming.
“Nine primary funds. Four dozen shell corporations.”
A voice reached my ear that wasn’t Theo’s.
“Stop…” whispered Donovan. “Please…”
“None of these accounts are for business,” I stated aloud. “They’re all for leverage. For influence. Payments, in return for silence.”
One of the men closest to the stage shouted in outrage. At the same time, Theo’s voice came through again:
“Second wave,” he murmured.
The screen above us changed again. Names appeared, arranged in neat columns. Attached to them were transaction logs. Withdrawals. Deposits, in obscene amounts.
I could tell by the reaction, most of those people were in the room right now.
More than one person began shouting, directly at Donovan. He tried to answer, but no sound came out.
“Sorry,” I mused. “Mr. Prescott can’t talk right now.”
There were no more laughs, nervous or otherwise. The crowd began milling around like ants whose nest got kicked over. Everyone had their phones out, staring down at them frantically.
“Some of you are in these files,” I said, unnecessarily. “But that’s okay. If your name appears up on the screen right now, it’s because you’ve earned it.”
Fear swept the crowd in a horrific wave. I watched it surge, like a physical thing.
“Last wave,” Theo spoke into my earpiece. “This is the big one.”
I knew what was happening, but only in theory.
Accounts were being drained. Blackmail was being exposed.
Prewritten press releases were being fired off, traveling along electronic avenues with files attached.
They landed in news centers, on live streams, on social media channels — all the places they couldn’t be undone.
I turned to face Donovan, and smiled.
“I know it’s late,” I growled derisively. “But this is my wedding present.”
The look of absolute horror on his face was worth its weight in diamonds. It superseded every bad thought, every worry. Every sleepless night I’d had since I’d accepted his proposal, knowing in my heart the kind of man he truly was.
“W—What did you just do?” he choked.
I winked at him.
“Everything.”
The screen above me kept shifting, exposing it all. People were filming it, utterly fascinated. Others looked like they wanted to throw up. There were gasps. Curses. Shouts of outrage. Lines began to form, as the more desperate in the crowd headed for the exits.
“Donovan Prescott recorded everything, by the way,” I raised my voice again. “All your private conversations. All your financial secrets. If it was something he could possibly use against you, rest assured he has it. Everyone in this room is either a client, or a target.”
That last one landed hard. The crowd nearest the stage began backing away. Even his own people — security team and all — began distancing themselves from his physical presence.
“He built his empire through underground fights,” I said, thinking of Ripley. “He manipulated bets, paid men to take falls. He used all of you, as a means to his own ends. He set traps, then destroyed the careers of anyone who didn’t cooperate.”
Full-blown panic erupted now. The crowd, riddled with anxiety, ebbed and flowed.
“He bought people,” I went on. “He paid off families. He lied through his teeth, to influence relationships.”
I scanned the crowd for my dear mother, but couldn’t find her. It was just as well. I didn’t want to see her anyway.
“He gave me this as a wedding present,” I said, holding up the silver locket. “He told me it belonged to his dead sister.”
For a brief moment everything stopped; even the shouts and murmurs. Heads turned. All eyes fell upon the tiny piece of delicate silver, dangling from the chain between my fingers.
“My poor fiancé never had a sister,” I said, my voice edged with sadness. “As with everything else, he uses sentiment to manipulate. To control. To own.”
Theo’s voice crackled softly in my ear again. This time it was almost reverent.
“It’s done.”
I swallowed hard, looking back one last time at the man I once thought I loved. All of a sudden he seemed very small. Very insignificant, and far away.
“Donovan Prescott never really built anything in his life,” I said, spinning back to the crowd. “All he’s ever done is destroy.”
A span of silence followed my last statement. Two or three seconds, that seemed to last forever.
“This is who you called a visionary,” I continued on. “This is who you funded, and lauded, and praised.”
I pointed back at him, while walking pointedly to the edge of the stage.
“Tonight though,” I finished softly, “you get to decide what that says about you.”
Theo cut the connection abruptly, with a loud crackle of static. It was the equivalent of a mic drop.
Almost immediately, the voices started up again.
The stage was high, but now I could see Colson beneath me. Ripley was there too, standing beside him. I lifted my dress and hopped down, into their arms, trusting they’d catch me.
And of course, they did.
Back on the floor, with my lovers’ hands still lingering at my waist, I looked up to the stage. The man who thought he owned everything was staring up at the screen, watching it all disappear. His knees were buckled. His arms dangled helplessly at his sides.
And for the first time in forever, Donovan Prescott stood alone.