My father, Richard Bennett, stood near the center of the room, his expression a mask of stern disappointment.

“I am deeply sorry about this, everyone,” Richard told a pair of prominent city council members. “My eldest daughter has some severe personal struggles.”

“She stole five million dollars from the family foundation, Dad,” Vanessa announced loudly, ensuring her voice carried across the high-ceilinged room.

A collective gasp rippled through the crowd of dressed-up guests, and several people turned away from me.

I kept my head high, though my knees felt weak under the weight of their judgment.

“That’s a lie, and you know it, Vanessa,” I said, my voice ringing out clearly over the murmur of the crowd.

“Silence, Claire,” Richard snapped, his eyes flashing with warning. “You have disgraced this family enough for one night.”

Suddenly, the heavy oak doors at the main entrance of the ballroom swung open with a dull thud.

Gabriel Vale walked in.

He wore a dark gray tailored suit, his broad shoulders squared and his stride long and deliberate.

Behind him came three men and a woman wearing dark blue windbreakers with yellow lettering on the back: *FBI*.