Heads turned toward Derek. Board members stood. George Matthews’s face was dark. Two of our senior partners stared at Derek like they’d never seen him before.
Derek stood. “Catherine, what are you—”
“Sit down, Derek.” My voice didn’t rise. Didn’t waver.
He stared at me.
“Sit down.”
He sat.
I turned back to the guests.
“Derek Pierce sold our client list to our competitor. He sold our financial records, our strategies—everything we’ve built over thirty years. He sold it to Stratton Advisory for five hundred thousand dollars.”
The tent erupted—whispers, gasps.
Someone said, “Oh my God.”
Rachel stood. Her face was white. “What?”
I looked at her—my daughter, my beautiful, brilliant, betrayed daughter.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” I said quietly. “But you need to know the truth.”
I clicked the remote in my hand.
The next slide appeared—a bank statement. A very large number. U.S. dollars.
I let them stare at it for three seconds.
Then I spoke.
“Derek Pierce sold my company to pay off a debt. Two point five million.”
And that was just the beginning.
I clicked the remote again. Another slide. Another number. Another truth.
“This,” I said, looking at Derek, “is why you’re marrying my daughter.”
Rachel’s hands flew to her mouth.
Derek lunged toward the exit.
Security—two men I’d hired, dressed as guests—blocked his path.
I turned back to the microphone.
“Let me tell you exactly who Derek Pierce is.”
I said it slowly.
“Derek Pierce is not who you think he is.”
The screen changed.
A table appeared—three rows, three company names, dollar amounts in red.
I didn’t read the details aloud. I didn’t need to.
I turned to table six, where Michael Torres, CEO of Tech Corp Solutions, sat with his wife. His jaw was tight. He knew exactly what he was looking at.
“Michael,” I said quietly. “You walked away from us in January. You told George it was a strategic decision.”
I paused.
“But it wasn’t, was it?”
Michael’s face darkened. He looked at Derek.
“No,” he said. “It wasn’t.”
I nodded and turned to table nine.
“Margaret Fletcher—Midwest Manufacturing. You terminated our contract in February. You said we missed deadlines.”
Margaret stood slowly, hands shaking.
“We didn’t miss them,” she said, voice breaking. “You sabotaged them.” She pointed at Derek. “You cost me my job.”
The tent erupted in whispers.
Derek tried to stand. Security forced him back down.
I looked at George Matthews.
“George verified every case.”
