Chapter 7 - The Confrontation
Panic seized my throat, but the survival instinct that had saved me in the kitchen kicked in. I shoved the heavy glass pitcher directly into Reynolds' chest. He grunted, stumbling backward as the remaining ice water soaked his dress shirt.
I didn't wait. I turned and bolted down the service corridor.
"Stop her!" Reynolds yelled, his heavy footsteps pounding behind me.
I rounded a corner, my catering shoes slipping on the polished marble. I needed to buy Elias time. If Reynolds dragged me out now, they might cut the power before the video played. I sprinted toward the winding grand staircase that led to the mezzanine overlooking the ballroom.
I reached the top, gasping for breath, and ducked behind a massive floral arrangement. Below me, the gala continued, oblivious to the chase. Melissa was still speaking.
"We demand justice," Melissa's voice boomed through the speakers. "And we promise you, Anastasia will pay for destroying our family."
Footsteps echoed on the stairs. Reynolds rounded the corner, pulling his radio from his belt. "I've got a trespasser on the mezzanine. It's the Harrington girl. Get security up here now."
He spotted me. He drew his baton, a cruel smile on his face. "Nowhere to run, sweetheart. You just violated your bail. You're going back in a cage where you belong."
"You covered for them," I spat, stepping out from behind the flowers, holding my ground. "You deleted the footage."
"I did what I was paid to do," Reynolds scoffed, stepping closer. "The Harringtons own this town. You were a bug on their windshield. Now, put your hands behind your back."
He lunged for me.
But at that exact second, the massive high-definition screens flanking the stage flickered. The soft, ambient lighting in the ballroom suddenly plunged into total darkness. A collective gasp echoed from the crowd below.
The speakers let out a sharp, high-pitched whine of feedback that made Reynolds flinch and cover his ears.
Then, the screens illuminated.
It wasn't the pre-planned slideshow of Callan's childhood photos. It was the crystal-clear, high-definition footage of the Harrington dining room.
Elias did it.
May you like
Reynolds froze, staring down at the massive screens. The entire ballroom went deathly quiet as my voice, amplified to stadium volume, echoed through the room.
"I will not apologize for something I didn't do."
