Chapter Fifty-Eight: The Last Card

The boardroom felt like a tomb this morning.

I sat in the same chair I'd occupied yesterday, but everything was different now. The marble table seemed colder, the portraits on the walls more disapproving, and the twelve board members looked like they'd already made up their minds about my fate.

Beside me, Dominic's jaw was tight with barely controlled tension. His hands rested on the table, fingers drumming a silent rhythm that spoke of nerves he was trying hard to hide.

Jules stood by the window, her usual confidence replaced by something that looked suspiciously like worry. She'd barely spoken during the car ride here, just kept checking her phone and muttering under her breath.

We all looked like people who'd lost everything and were just going through the motions.

Which, if I was being honest, was exactly how I felt.

"Well," Maeve said, settling into her chair at the head of the table with the satisfaction of a cat who'd caught a particularly fat mouse. "I trust everyone had an interesting evening."

Several board members shifted uncomfortably. The silver-haired man—Richard—looked between Maeve and me with obvious curiosity.

"I'm not sure what you mean," I said, proud that my voice came out steady.

Maeve's smile was sharp enough to cut glass. "Oh, I think you know exactly what I mean." She gestured to someone standing by the door. "Margaret, would you bring in the presentation materials?"

Margaret Williams wheeled in a cart with a large monitor, her face carefully neutral. But I caught the way she avoided looking directly at me, and my stomach dropped another few inches.

"You see," Maeve continued, standing and smoothing down her black suit, "we had some unexpected visitors at my sister's penthouse last night. Breaking and entering, I believe the police called it."

The room went dead silent. I could feel every pair of eyes in the room turning to stare at me, but I kept my face blank. Beside me, Dominic didn't even twitch.

"How unfortunate," he said mildly. "I hope nothing was stolen."

"Oh, but something was." Maeve's eyes glittered with triumph. "Very important documents. Family documents that happen to prove who the real Van Alston heir is."

She clicked a remote, and the monitor flickered to life. Grainy security footage filled the screen—the service elevator, the hallway outside Victoria's penthouse, the study where we'd opened the safe.

My heart stopped beating.

"As you can see," Maeve said, her voice dripping with false concern, "the perpetrators were quite brazen. Breaking into a sick woman's home, stealing her most precious belongings."

The footage was damning. Crystal clear shots of two figures in dark clothing, faces partially obscured but body language unmistakably guilty. The timestamp showed last night, right around the time we'd been there.

"Shocking," Richard said, leaning forward to study the screen. "Do we know who—"

"Oh, we know exactly who," Maeve interrupted. She turned to face me directly. "Don't we, Scarlett?"

Every board member was staring at me now. I could feel their judgment, their disgust, their complete certainty that I was nothing more than a common criminal.

"I'm not sure what you're implying," I said carefully.

"I'm not implying anything. I'm stating facts." Maeve's voice turned vicious. "You broke into my sister's home and stole documents to support your fraudulent claim to the Van Alston inheritance."

"That's a serious accusation," Dominic said, his voice deadly quiet.

"It's a serious crime," Maeve shot back. "And I have proof."

She clicked the remote again, and the screen filled with a close-up shot from the study. Two figures at the safe, one clearly female, one clearly male.

"The police have been very helpful," Maeve continued. "They've confirmed that these documents were stolen during last night's break-in. Which means anything you try to present today as 'proof' of your identity is nothing more than stolen property."

The trap was perfect. Absolute. Inescapable.

If I produced the documents, I'd be admitting to theft. If I didn't produce them, I had no proof of my identity. Either way, I lost.

"Furthermore," Maeve said, warming to her theme, "I think we can all agree that we don't want a common thief running the Van Alston empire. The board has a fiduciary duty to protect the company from criminal elements."

Several board members were nodding. I could see the decision forming in their eyes—better to go with the devil they knew than risk everything on a woman who broke into buildings.

"So," Maeve said, settling back into her chair like a queen on her throne, "unless you have some other form of proof—something that wasn't stolen from my sister's home—I suggest we move forward with the succession vote."

The room fell silent. Waiting.

I looked around the table, seeing my future crumble in twelve pairs of disappointed eyes. Everything I'd fought for, everything I'd survived, and it was all going to end because of a security camera and Maeve's perfect trap.

Then I smiled.

"Actually," I said, reaching into my purse, "I do have proof."

I pulled out a manila envelope and placed it on the marble table with deliberate care. The same envelope we'd taken from Victoria's safe. The same documents that had scattered in the tunnel. The same proof that should have been dissolving into illegible pulp at the bottom of a storm drain.

Maeve's face went white. "That's impossible."

"Is it?" I opened the envelope and spread the contents across the table. Birth certificates, DNA test results, hospital records, adoption papers—all pristine, all official, all undeniably real.

"These documents prove beyond any shadow of a doubt that I am Victoria Van Alston's granddaughter and the rightful heir to the Van Alston fortune."

"Those are stolen!" Maeve shrieked, jumping to her feet. "I have footage of you taking them!"

"Do you?" I asked sweetly. "Because I think you should look at that footage a little more carefully."

Richard leaned forward, studying the monitor with new interest. "Margaret, can you replay that close-up shot?"

The security footage rolled again, showing the two figures at the safe. But this time, with everyone looking more carefully, details became clearer.

The woman was blonde, not brunette. Shorter than me. Moving with a different gait entirely.

The man was thinner than Dominic, with different posture, different mannerisms.

"That's not them," Richard said slowly.

"What?" Maeve grabbed the remote and rewound the footage, staring at the screen in growing horror.

"The woman in the footage," Richard continued. "She's blonde. Mrs. Blackwood has dark hair."

"She could have worn a wig—"

"The height's wrong too," another board member said. "And the body type."

Maeve's hands were shaking as she stared at the footage that was supposed to be her smoking gun. "But the documents—"

"Are legitimate," I said firmly. "And legally obtained."

"Then who—" Maeve started.

The boardroom door opened, and two security guards entered, escorting a woman in handcuffs.

A blonde woman.

A woman I recognized.

"Ma'am," one of the guards said to Richard, "we caught this woman trying to break into the building's security office. She was attempting to alter the timestamp on some surveillance footage."

The woman raised her head, and I saw her face clearly for the first time.

I gasped