Chapter 6 - The Lion’s Den
The Harrington Grand Hotel was a monument to wealth, all towering glass and imported marble. On the night of the gala, it was swarming with valets, security, and the wealthiest socialites in Arizona.
I stood in the service alley, dressed in a crisp white catering uniform, my hair slicked back tight under a bun. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. Elias stood next to me, wearing a matching uniform and carrying a stack of silver trays.
"Remember the plan," Elias muttered, keeping his head down as we approached the service doors. "I break off at the kitchen and head up the service elevator to the AV control room. I have the drive. You stay out of sight. Pour water, clear plates, do not let anyone see your face."
"I just need to see her face when it happens," I whispered.
We slipped past the distracted security guard, blending seamlessly into the chaotic swarm of the kitchen. The sounds of clinking glass and string quartet music drifted in from the main ballroom. I grabbed a pitcher of ice water and stepped out through the swinging doors.
The ballroom was breathtaking. Chandeliers dripped with crystals, and hundreds of guests mingled in tuxedos and evening gowns. At the center of the room, sitting at the head table like royalty, was Melissa. She wore a stunning emerald gown, playing the tragic, strong matriarch to perfection. Next to her was Brooklyn.
And then, I saw him.
Callan sat at the table, the left side of his face wrapped in white medical gauze. He was nodding solemnly as guests approached him, patting his shoulder, offering their sympathies. Disgust roiled in my stomach. He wasn't a victim; he was a coward hiding behind his mother's skirt.
I kept to the shadows along the perimeter, moving mechanically, filling water glasses at empty tables. I checked my watch.
Ten minutes.
Suddenly, a voice echoed through the microphone. The room fell silent. Melissa was standing at the podium on the grand stage.
"Friends, family, esteemed guests," she began, her voice quivering with perfectly calculated emotion. "We are gathered here tonight to celebrate resilience. My son, Callan, has endured an unimaginable trauma at the hands of someone we trusted. But tonight is not about the darkness. Tonight is about the light."
The crowd applauded softly. My grip on the water pitcher tightened until my knuckles turned white.
Five minutes, Elias. Hurry.
I turned to move further into the shadows, but as I did, I bumped directly into a massive figure. The water pitcher sloshed, spilling freezing water onto a pair of polished Italian leather shoes.
"Watch where you're going!" a harsh voice snapped.
May you like
I looked up, freezing in terror. It was Detective Reynolds. He was in a tuxedo, moonlighting as private security for the event. His eyes locked onto my face. The recognition was instant.
"You," he snarled, reaching for my arm. "What the hell are you doing here?"
