Margarethe cleared her throat, trying to force her voice back into a firm, commanding tone despite the visible red mark on her face. "Brandon, stop this ridiculous display right now," she demanded, taking a small step forward while keeping her distance from him. "You are letting your emotions cloud your judgment over a nobody. Even if I did spill a little juice by accident, she threw a scene on purpose! If this story gets out to the press, the stock value of our family corporation will plummet by morning! Think about your future, your estate, and your family name!"
Brandon slowly stood up from the floor, his grey suit dirty and stained, but his posture was completely rigid with authority. He did not look intimidated by her talk of corporate stocks or family name. Instead, he reached down, helped Hannah to her feet gently, and placed a protective arm around her waist to keep her steady. Hannah held onto him, her body still shivering slightly, but her eyes were fixed on Brandon's strong jawline. She could feel that the dynamic in this house had shifted forever.
"You always think everything comes down to money, reputation, and public image, Margarethe," Brandon said, his voice cold and steady as he looked at her. "You think you can treat people like dirt and then buy your way out of the consequences with high-powered lawyers and fake apologies."
"I am the head of this household while your father is away receiving medical care!" Margarethe snapped back, her eyes narrowing with fury. "My word is what matters here! No court, no board of directors, and no judge will take the word of a poor little girl over mine! It is her word against mine, Brandon! And who do you think people will believe? A respected philanthropist in a gold gown or a hysterical girl covered in juice?"
Brandon let out a low, bitter laugh that cut straight through her bold words. He did not answer her question right away. Instead, he slowly raised his left hand and pointed straight up toward the top corner of the massive entrance hall. Margarethe’s eyes followed his finger, tracking it up the high white wall until her gaze landed on a small, glossy fixture mounted near the ceiling.
High above the black-and-white checkered floor, a white dome security camera sat mounted flush against the crown molding. Its small glass lens was angled directly down at the center of the hall, capturing every single square inch of the space where the encounter had taken place. Right beside the lens, a bright red recording light was blinking continuously, pulsing steady and clear against the white paint. It was a state-of-the-art, high-definition system with full audio recording capabilities, installed just last month to protect the valuable art pieces inside the estate.
Margarethe’s face went completely pale, the color draining from her cheeks faster than the red liquid had poured onto the floor. Her mouth opened slightly, but no sound came out this time. Her mind raced as she remembered every single word she had spoken, every cruel line about Hannah being a gold-digger, and the precise moment she had tilted the crystal pitcher directly over the blonde girl's head. The entire act was caught on high-definition video, complete with crisp, clear sound.
"You forgot about the new security upgrades I signed off on last week, didn't you?" Brandon asked, his voice filled with dark satisfaction. "It streams directly to my private server, saved automatically in real time. The video shows everything, Margarethe. It shows you pouring the juice, it captures your vicious words, and it proves every single word you just said was a complete, calculated lie."