Beverly stepped forward, her chin high. She had built her entire life on appearing superior in rooms where superiority could be performed with clothing, posture, and cruelty. At fifty-eight, she still moved like a woman expecting doors to open because she approached them.
“This woman has disrupted an important charity event,” Beverly said. “Your staff should remove her before she causes further embarrassment.”
Vincent looked at her for one long second.
“Mrs. Washington, the only embarrassment in this room is that five hundred adults watched a woman be assaulted and most of them remained silent.”
The sentence cracked across the ballroom.
Beverly’s mouth opened, but no words came out.
Vincent turned slightly, addressing the room now.
“For the record, the woman on the floor is not an intruder, not a guest, and not a charity case. She is Lenora Harrison, daughter of Marcus and Diana Harrison, legal heir to the Harrison dynasty, and as of midnight this morning, sole controlling owner of this estate and the charitable foundation hosting tonight’s gala.”
