Chapter 10 - The Gala
The ballroom at the Fairmont Olympic Hotel was awash in crystal chandeliers, expensive champagne, and the quiet hum of Seattle’s elite. I sat in my custom wheelchair near the back entrance, obscured by the heavy velvet curtains. Clara stood beside me, wearing a stunning, understated midnight-blue evening gown that stole all the oxygen from my lungs.
Through the crack in the curtains, I could see the stage. Marcus was at the podium, smiling flawlessly for the cameras.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Marcus’s voice boomed through the speakers. “We are here tonight to celebrate the future of Vance Cybernetics. While our founder, Julian Vance, cannot be with us due to his unfortunate medical condition, I want to assure you that the company is in capable, steady hands.”
I looked up at Clara. She knelt beside my chair and engaged the locks on my titanium braces underneath my tuxedo trousers.
“Your core is tight,” she whispered, her hands resting on my knees. “Your hips are aligned. The podium is exactly twenty steps from the curtain. You use the cane. You do not rush.”
“I’m ready,” I said.
“I know you are.” She stood up and kissed my cheek softly. “Go take your empire back.”
I signaled the event coordinator. The music suddenly shifted. The massive screens behind the stage, which were displaying Marcus’s presentation, abruptly flashed to the Vance Cybernetics founder logo.
Marcus faltered, turning around in confusion.
The heavy velvet curtains parted. The spotlight swung to the back of the room, illuminating me in my wheelchair. A collective gasp rippled through the ballroom of five hundred people. Total silence fell.
May you like
I pushed the wheels forward, gliding down the center aisle. Whispers erupted like wildfire. The board members in the front row looked completely stunned. Marcus’s face turned an ugly shade of pale.
I stopped my chair at the base of the stage ramp. I locked the wheels. I picked up the sleek, black carbon-fiber cane resting beside my leg.
