Chapter3

The snow fell harder.

The phone in my left coat pocket suddenly vibrated.

I pulled it out with my good left hand.

It was a message from Liam, accompanied by a twelve-second, high-definition video.

I tapped the video open.

In the frame, Celia stood on a marble round table in the dead center of the banquet hall, surrounded by a few blackout-drunk guys.

Celia laughed hysterically, holding a champagne flute high.

The camera jerked, and Liam’s profile appeared in the shot. He held a champagne bottle upside down. Just to hype up the crowd, he poured the champagne straight over the hem of Celia’s dress.

"Whoa! Liam! Nice work!" The rich kids around them whistled wildly.

Far from being upset, Celia lifted her soaked hem and struck a wildly arrogant pose for the camera.

The video ended abruptly.

Immediately after, Liam sent a text message:

"See what real high society looks like? If you know what's good for you, stay away from us after tonight. Stop clinging. Otherwise, it won't just be your fingers getting crushed next time."

I stared at the words.

I didn't cry. Instead, an unprecedented clarity washed over me.

It was completely pathetic.

I looked down at my old canvas sneakers, fully soaked in the muddy slush.

For three years, just to protect Liam’s fragile, pathetic male ego, I locked my limitless Vanderbilt family black card at the bottom of a drawer and joined him every day for discounted sandwiches at fast-food joints. I purposely bombed my exams by a few points just to hand him the spot for the full scholarship. To buy him an out-of-print set of law prep books worth several thousand dollars, I waited tables at a coffee shop for an entire semester.

I disguised myself as a cautious, orphaned, bottom-rung nobody. I thought that as long as I was ordinary enough, he could give me a normal home, free of scheming.

But what did I get in return?

I got an ungrateful bastard who could never be satisfied.

I took a deep breath, propped myself up against the ground with my left hand, and slowly sat up.

I didn't call campus security. Campus cops couldn't deal with a thief, let alone pass judgment on a bunch of self-righteous idiots.

I opened my contacts and found a number I hadn't dialed in three years.

I pressed call.

"Miss?!" The butler’s voice came through the speaker. "Thank God, you are finally using this private line. Where are you? Do you need me to send a car?"

"Arthur."

"I am listening, Miss. Please give your orders." He instantly shifted into an absolutely professional tone.

"The one-of-a-kind Queen Mary dress my mother left me was stolen. It is currently in the first-floor banquet hall of the Grand Central Hotel."

A sharp intake of breath echoed over the line.

"The lace hem was slashed by a sharp object, and the fabric was drenched in alcohol." I closed my eyes, and Liam’s look of utter disgust as he stomped on my fingers flashed through my mind. "Tell the family’s legal department to pull that insurance policy from Sotheby's from three years ago."

"No need to check, Miss. The insured value is fifty million dollars." Arthur’s voice instantly took on a chilling, murderous edge. "I will contact the NYPD immediately."

"Not enough." I snapped my eyes open. "Ordinary cops won't even make it through those front doors. That will just give them time to destroy the evidence."

"What are you suggesting?"

"Contact the FBI's Art Crime Team." I stared at the illuminated French windows across the street. "I remember when their previous director retired, my grandfather gifted him a yacht. Now, it's time for them to return the favor."

"Understood."

"Also, I want the Grand Central Hotel locked down immediately. Seal off every exit. Not even a single fly in that banquet hall is allowed to leave tonight."

The rapid clatter of a keyboard echoed through the phone.

"Emergency protocols have been initiated." Ten seconds later, Arthur's crisp voice came through the receiver. "Message received, Miss."

In the driving wind and snow, I gripped the phone tightly in my left hand.

"Three of the family's helicopters have taken off." Arthur paused. "ETA is five minutes."