Chapter 4 - The Descent of the King
The rain in Chicago was torrential by the time Preston’s flight landed.
He emerged from the terminal looking like a ghost of the man who had left for Greece three days ago. His linen shirt was wrinkled, stained with cheap airline coffee, and his hair was a messy, tangled ruin. Marjorie hobbled beside him, her face pale, her expensive leather shoes ruined by the puddles on the tarmac.
Brianna was gone. The moment she realized Preston’s cards were dead and he was flying economy, she had suddenly remembered an "emergency modeling shoot" in Milan and had boarded a flight to Italy with a wealthy German tourist she met at the boarding gate.
"I'm going to kill her," Preston muttered, his teeth chattering as he stood in the taxi line. "I'm going to find Clara, and I'm going to make her pay for every single second of this."
"She’s a psycho, Preston!" Marjorie shrieked, clutching her damp coat around her shoulders. "She’s ruined us! My penthouse, our reputation... everyone in Chicago is talking! I saw the financial blogs during the layover. They’re saying Vale Enterprises is bankrupt!"
"We’re not bankrupt," Preston hissed. "The party is tonight. All our investors will be there. I’ll stand on that stage, I’ll explain that we had a temporary security breach, and I’ll secure the refinancing deals in person. Once the contracts are signed, Apex will have to restore our credit lines."
He checked his phone. It had 3% battery, but he saw a notification from the Grand Lakeshore Hotel.
The Vale Birthday Gala is proceeding as scheduled. Doors open at 7:00 PM.
Preston let out a long, ragged sigh of relief. "See? The party is still on. That means Clara didn't have the courage to cancel it. She probably got scared and realized she couldn't survive without me. She’s probably waiting at the hotel right now, crying, hoping I’ll forgive her."
"You must divorce her immediately after the refinancing is secured," Marjorie demanded. "She is a dangerous, unstable creature."
"I will," Preston said, his eyes darkening with a cold, vengeful focus. "But first, I'm going to make her stand in front of all our guests and apologize for what she did to my accounts."
They took a dirty, smelling taxi to the Grand Lakeshore Hotel.
When they arrived, the entrance was a sea of luxury vehicles. Rolls-Royces, Bentleys, and Lamborghinis lined the valet curve. The paparazzi were there, their flashbulbs lighting up the rainy night like strobe lights.
Preston straightened his wrinkled collar, running his fingers through his hair, trying to summon the remnants of his CEO persona. He walked through the gilded brass doors of the hotel, Marjorie following closely behind.
The lobby was spectacular, but as they approached the grand ballroom entrance, two large security guards in black suits stepped into their path.
"Excuse me," Preston said, his voice rising in irritation. "I'm Preston Vale. This is my party. Let me through."
The guard on the left looked at his clipboard, then up at Preston with a completely blank expression. "I'm sorry, sir. Your name is not on the guest list."
Preston laughed, a high, hysterical sound. "My name is on the wall, you idiot! It's the Preston Vale Thirty-Ninth Birthday Gala! I'm the CEO of the company funding this entire event!"
"Actually, Mr. Vale," a smooth, cultured voice said from behind the guards.
Harrison Vance stepped forward, his arms crossed over his chest. He looked at Preston’s wrinkled clothes and mud-stained shoes with a look of quiet, professional distaste.
"You are no longer the CEO of Vale Enterprises," Harrison said. "And this is no longer your party."
"What are you talking about?" Preston roared, reaching out to grab Harrison’s lapel, but the security guards instantly stepped in, grabbing his arms and pinning them behind his back.
"Let go of him!" Marjorie screamed, waving her handbag at the guards. "Do you know who we are? We are the Vales!"
"Yes, we know," Harrison said quietly. "And that is exactly why you are not allowed inside. But the host has made a single exception. She is willing to see you in the private salon behind the stage. If you promise to behave yourselves, the guards will escort you there."
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"She?" Preston gasped, his mind spinning. "Who is 'she'?"
"Your wife, Mr. Vale," Harrison said. "Though I believe she prefers to go by her maiden name now. Ms. Bennett."
