Chapter 5 - The Gala DisasterThe Marino Corporation’s annual autumn investor gala was traditionally the social event of the Westchester season. Held under a massive, climate-controlled glass marquee on the estate’s west lawn, it brought together hedge fund managers, city politicians, and society elites.
This year, it was an unmitigated catastrophe.
Without Walter to manage the logistics, the catering staff—flown in from a rushed third-party agency—was entirely out of their depth. Hors d'oeuvres arrived cold, wine was served in the wrong glassware, and the sound system shrieked with feedback every time someone tapped a microphone.
Worse still, Dominic stood near the entrance in a tailored tuxedo that suddenly looked a size too big for him, trying to smile through gritted teeth while greeting investors who had heard whispers of his domestic meltdown.
Standing beside him in a glittering, skin-tight emerald gown that screamed for attention was Vanessa. She was laughing too loudly, holding a glass of sparkling cider, entirely oblivious to the cold, cutting stares directed at her by the city’s financial elite.
“Darling, look, isn't that Senator Vance?” Vanessa purred, clutching Dominic’s arm. “Go introduce me.”
Dominic gently pulled his arm away, his eyes bloodshot and hollow. He hadn't slept properly in four days. “Vanessa, stay here. Do not move.”
Before he could take two steps toward the senator, the murmurs in the marquee abruptly died.
The heavy glass entrance doors parted.
All heads turned.
I walked in.
I wasn't wearing a maternity muumuu or hiding in the background. I wore a custom-tailored, midnight-blue silk evening gown that accentuated my pregnant silhouette with quiet, devastating authority. On my arm walked Walter, impeccably dressed in his traditional estate manager suit, acting as my escort for the evening. Behind us walked Raymond and two federal process servers carrying heavy leather briefcases.
A collective gasp sucked the air right out of the tent.
Dominic froze midway across the wooden flooring, his face turning an ash-gray color. “Carrie...” he whispered, the name catching in his dry throat.
I didn't look at him. I walked straight toward the VIP dais where the board chairman and key investors sat sipping drinks.
Walter stepped forward, his voice ringing clear and authoritative across the silent marquee.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” Walter announced calmly. “On behalf of Mrs. Carrie Marino, and pursuant to emergency legal filings entered in the Westchester County Supreme Court this afternoon, please be advised that the majority voting shares of Marino Holdings previously pledged as collateral have been seized under marital asset protection orders.”
Total, stunned silence swallowed the room.
Vanessa’s face went white. She dropped her glass of cider; it shattered against the wooden floor with a sharp, echoing crack.
Dominic lunged forward through the parting crowd, his face twisted in panic. “Carrie! Have you lost your mind? Doing this in public—destroying my company—in front of everyone—!”
I finally turned my gaze toward him. My eyes were as cold and still as winter ice.
“Your company, Dominic?” I asked, my voice carrying effortlessly across the quiet pavilion. “You built nothing. You inherited a legacy, spent nine years trying to dismantle it through arrogance, and last week, you couldn't even manage your own front door.”
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I reached into my handbag, pulled out the formal divorce petition stamped with court seals, and dropped it neatly onto the podium beside the microphone.
“You’re served, Mr. Marino,” I said softly. “Enjoy the rest of your gala.”
