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’veearnedit.”
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 It superseded every bad thought, every worry.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 justdo?”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.”
