Chapter 13 - The Gala of Shadows
Z
The grand staircase of the Metropolitan Museum of Art was covered in a thick crimson carpet, illuminated by blinding flashes of red-carpet photography and heavy spotlights. Dressed in a floor-length gold metallic gown, with my hair swept up to reveal my mother's diamond necklace, I walked up the steps arm-in-arm with my father.
To the world, I was the picture of unshakeable billionaire elegance. Underneath my gown, however, I wore a micro-transponder, and every security guard dressed in tuxedos along the velvet ropes was a heavily armed private operative working for Vale Consolidated.
"Perimeter clear on the north side," Miriam's voice whispered through my hidden earpiece. "Tactical team located two armed operatives in the parking garage. They've been neutralized quietly. No public disruption."
"What about Eleanor?" I murmured, smiling graciously for a passing photographer.
"No visual on her yet. Keep moving toward the main hall."
We stepped through the towering glass doors into the Great Hall. Orchestral music echoed beneath the soaring stone arches, surrounded by hundreds of high-society guests sipping vintage champagne. But the luxury was an illusion; the tension humming through my veins was razor-sharp.
At 9:15 PM, the lights in the main hall flickered once, twice, and then plummeted into total, suffocating darkness.
Gasps and sharp screams echoed through the crowd.
"Power cut on the main grid!" Miriam screamed through my earpiece over sudden static. "Claire! Backup generators jammed! Get down—"
The earpiece went dead.
Panic erupted across the ballroom as hundreds of guests scrambled blindly toward the exits. Emergency red backup lights kicked on three seconds later, casting an eerie, crimson glow across the cavernous room.
Through the chaos, a calm, heavy click of heels sounded against the marble floor.
The crowd parted in terror as Eleanor Hawthorne walked slowly into the center of the hall. She wore a dramatic black velvet gown, her face pale and gaunt from illness, but her eyes burning with an unholy, maniacal fervor. In her right hand, she held a sleek, black remote detonator.
Standing behind her were three tall, masked men carrying tactical submachine guns pointed directly at the crowd.
"Good evening, high society!" Eleanor's voice boomed through the museum's acoustic hall, raspy and insane. "Did you miss me?!"
My father instantly moved to step in front of me, but I laid a firm hand on his arm, holding him back as I stepped forward into the crimson light.
"Eleanor," I said, my voice echoing steady and strong against the stone walls. "You really couldn't resist making a scene, could you?"
Eleanor turned her sunken eyes toward me, a terrifying, toothy smile stretching across her pale face. "Look at you, Claire. Standing in gold, playing queen of New York while my son rots in a cage! You stole everything from us!"
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"Your son stole from his own company, cheated on his pregnant wife, and tried to frame innocent people," I replied, taking a slow, deliberate step toward her. "You did this to yourselves."
"LIAR!" Eleanor shrieked, raising the detonator high in the air. "This detonator is linked to incendiary charges set around the foundation of your precious pediatric hospital! One press of this button, Claire... and your legacy turns to ash before midnight!"
