The ballroom of the Regent Hotel remained locked in a state of absolute silence. The sharp echoes of old Mr. Smith's accusations and striking his ebony cane against the floor still lingered in the air, creating a suffocating wall of tension that pressed down on every single guest in attendance. High society elites, powerful corporate executives, and visiting dignitaries stood in place, their eyes darting nervously between the imposing figure of the Smith family patriarch and the calm, unbothered reaction of Sheraton Miguel. Old Mr. Smith stood tall in the center of the aisle, his chest heaving with ragged breaths as he basked in the dramatic impact of his sudden outburst. He believed he had successfully turned the tide of the entire evening. By seizing the initiative and launching a public, aggressive assault on Sheraton's integrity, he hoped to rally the wavering support of the high society crowd and shift the blame awa

Old Mr. Smith felt the blood drain from his face, a sudden, sharp pain gripping his chest as the terrifying magnitude of the situation crashed down upon him. He tried to speak, but his throat felt entirely dry, choked by the sudden realization that their defense had been systematically dismantled before it even began. Sheraton did not stop there. She gave a subtle nod toward the podium console, and the displays shifted once more. "Forgery is only the first part of your crimes," Sheraton said, her voice turning razor-sharp. "When you attempt to manufacture federal banking documents to frame innocent corporations, you trigger an automated protocol under the Emergency Banking Act. Since your domestic assets were already under review, the central bank has executed the final phase of liquidation." On the massive screens, the financial ledger switched to live banking feeds detailing th

The ballroom of the Regent Hotel remained locked in a state of suspended disbelief following the large financial exposure of the Smith family. High society guests whispered frantically among themselves, their eyes darting nervously toward old Mr. Smith and his disgraced son. The once untouchable patriarch stood frozen near the center of the room, his chest heaving with shallow breaths as he stared blankly at the massive digital screens that had just announced his corporate disgrace. Just moments before, the screens had displayed the merciless liquidation of every asset, bank account, and property held under the Smith family name. The wealthy elites who had bowed to old Mr. Smith only an hour ago now maintained a wide, terrified berth around him, desperate to distance themselves from a sinking ship that had already crashed into the ocean floor. James Smith stood a few paces away,

The heavy mood in the ballroom hung thick with the metallic scent of spilled champagne and the iron tang of fresh blood. Under the splintered ruins of the central buffet table, James Smith lay crumpled in a heap, his breathing shallow and rattling as dark crimson leaked from the corner of his mouth. Just a few feet away, old Mr. Smith remained slumped against a floral pillar, clutching his chest in a desperate struggle against physical collapse. It was definitely not business as usual for his family. High society guests huddled near the perimeter walls, their expensive designer attire soiled with dust and food debris. No one dared to approach the fallen patriarch or his disgraced son. The once almighty Smith family, whose word was law in Oakland just hours ago, now resembled nothing more than discarded trash swept into the corner of a dirty room. Sheraton Miguel stood relaxed bes