Preston had no answer, because there was no answer, because Raymond was right.
Sloan quietly slipped her phone into her purse. Too late.
Raymond pointed at her. "And you. You recorded every second. You narrated it like a nature documentary. Natural selection, you said." Sloan's face drained of color, her hand freezing on the clasp of her purse. "Thank you for the evidence."
Raymond turned back to the audience. "The $550 million deal with Harrington Group is terminated, effective immediately. I've instructed our legal team to file a formal complaint for assault and civil rights violations. This footage," he gestured to the screens, "will be submitted as evidence."
He looked at Gerald, who stood near the stage, phone in hand. Gerald nodded.
"Additionally," Raymond continued, "copies of this footage will be sent to every partner, investor, and board member associated with Harrington Group by morning. Every business contact, every foundation, every charity board Victoria Harrington sits on."
Victoria sat down slowly, like a woman whose legs had stopped working.
"You came into my house," Raymond said, his voice low now, almost a whisper into the microphone. "You sat at my table. You drank my champagne. And you tortured my daughter for fun." He paused. "$550 million. That's the price of your fun."
He stepped away from the podium. He walked down from the stage. He crossed the ballroom floor, past the silent tables, past the frozen guests, past the shattered wine glass on the marble, and he went to his daughter.
Camille was standing near the entrance, frosting still in her hair, the towel Nina had given her pressed against her chest. She hadn't moved since he arrived.
Raymond put his arm around her shoulders. "Let's go home, sweetheart," he said.
They walked out together. The locked doors opened for them, and behind them, the Harrington family sat in the ruins of their reputation, surrounded by three hundred witnesses who would never forget what they saw.
The fallout was swift, and it was total.