Beside the stage, several men in dark suits stepped out from the main entrance.

They were FBI agents, accompanied by NYPD officers.

They marched straight down the center aisle toward the stage.

Tristan tried to step backward, but two security guards blocked his exit.

“Tristan Carmichael?” the lead agent called out, his voice carrying over the din.

The agent held up a pair of handcuffs.

“You are under arrest for federal bank fraud, wire fraud, and money laundering.”

Khloe stepped away from Tristan as if he were covered in poison.

“This is a mistake!” Tristan shouted, his voice cracking.

“This is a fabrication!”

The agents grabbed his arms, pulling them behind his back.

The metallic click of the handcuffs echoed in the quiet pockets of the room.

The guests watched in stunned silence as the former golden boy of Wall Street was forced to his knees.

I knew what would happen next.

The feds would freeze his personal and business accounts by morning.

Every dollar he had stolen from me would be seized and returned under the asset forfeiture laws.

My savings would be restored.