Chapter 4 - The Gala of Lies
Beatrice was entirely unaware that Marcus had been arrested. Grandfather had used his influence to place a gag order on the police report and had Marcus held in a private, highly secure county facility.
Believing her plan was running smoothly, Beatrice proceeded with her grandest social event of the year: The Sterling Heritage Gala, a massive charity ball she hosted to cement her status in the upper echelons of high society.
I sat in Grandfather’s study watching her on the local morning news.
“My foundation is dedicated to helping families in crisis,” Beatrice said to the overly enthusiastic anchor, dabbing at a fake tear with a silk handkerchief. “It’s a cause very close to my heart. Recently, our family dealt with a tragic mental health crisis involving a young mother. It taught me how fragile the mind is, and how we must step in to protect the innocent children left behind.”
She was talking about me. She was using her attempted kidnapping of Mia as a PR stunt to raise money.
“Vile woman,” Grandfather muttered, adjusting his tailored tuxedo.
“She’s going to announce that she has sole custody of Mia tonight, isn't she?” I asked, standing up. I was wearing a breathtaking emerald-green evening gown that Grandfather had flown in from Paris. It fit perfectly.
“She will try,” Grandfather said, offering me his arm. “But tonight, my dear, the ghost is attending the feast.”
When we arrived at the Grand Plaza Hotel, the ballroom was a sea of diamonds, champagne, and the elite of the city. Beatrice was holding court near the grand staircase, wearing a diamond necklace paid for by the money stolen from my daughter.
When the mahogany doors opened and Grandfather walked in with me on his arm, the ballroom went dead silent.
The string quartet stumbled on their notes and faded out.
Beatrice turned. The color completely drained from her face, leaving her looking like a porcelain doll about to shatter. She dropped her champagne flute. The crystal shattered loudly against the marble floor.
I didn't cower. I didn't hide. I held my head high, my posture perfect, the emerald silk of my gown trailing behind me like liquid glass.
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Grandfather led me straight to her.
“Beatrice,” Grandfather said, his voice carrying through the silent room. “You look remarkably pale for a woman hosting a charity gala.”
