The chandeliers in the Great Hall of the Croft Estate blazed with light, casting a golden glow over the three hundred guests sipping vintage champagne. From the outside, the “Founders’ Gala” looked like a triumph of the Croft dynasty.
Upstairs, in the dressing room, the reality was far grimmer. Victoria zipped up her emerald silk gown–a dress she had bought three years ago. Beside her, Isabella adjusted the straps of a Valentino couture piece she had pulled from storage.
“We look like a billion dollars,” Isabella said, her voice tight. “Let’s hope no one notices the catering staff is only here because I gave the head chef my diamond earrings as collateral.”
William and Malcolm waited in the hallway in their tuxedos. They looked indistinguishable, two pillars of the empire. But William’s pockets were empty of credit cards, and Malcolm was calculating exactly how many hours of electricity they could afford before the power company cut the line.
“This is a lie,” William muttered, adjusting his cufflinks.
“No,” Isabella corrected, opening the double doors. “It’s a performance. And the curtain just went up.”
The family descended the grand staircase in formation, smiling at the sharks who had come to watch them bleed. The cameras flashed, capturing the perfect image of a dynasty that was secretly bankrupt.