Chapter 18 - The Gala TrapThe St. Regis Hotel ballroom was a vision of crystal chandeliers, flowing champagne, and Richmond’s absolute elite. The Oakhaven Foundation Gala had raised over two million dollars before the appetizers were even served.
I stood at the podium in a stunning emerald gown, delivering my keynote speech to a standing ovation. To the hundreds of guests, I was the picture of grace and triumph.
But beneath the surface, the hotel was a fortress.
Every waiter, every valet, and every security guard in the VIP area had been handpicked by my father. Half of them were off-duty tactical officers.
Leo wasn't even in the hotel.
He was safely locked down at the Oakhaven estate with a four-man private security detail. The "childcare suite" on the second floor of the hotel was an empty room, rigged with high-definition cameras and reinforced steel doors.
From my vantage point at the podium, I scanned the crowd. And then, I saw her.
Standing near the back exit, trying to blend into the shadows, was Margaret Vance. She looked gaunt, her old evening gown hanging loosely off her frame. Her eyes were darting frantically around the room, waiting for her moment to strike.
I smiled, finishing my speech to roaring applause. I stepped down from the stage and tapped the discrete earpiece hidden beneath my hair.
"Dad," I whispered. "The rat is in the maze. Back exit, west wall."
"Copy that," my father’s voice crackled calmly in my ear. "Miller just swiped a stolen keycard on the second floor. He’s walking into the trap."
Margaret saw me stepping off the stage and began to move. She grabbed a champagne flute from a passing waiter and marched toward the center of the room. She was gearing up to scream, to make a scene, to draw the guards away.
Before she could open her mouth, two massive men in tailored suits stepped smoothly into her path, completely blocking her from the crowd's view.
"Excuse me," Margaret snapped, trying to sidestep them.
"Mrs. Vance," one of the men said quietly, his hand clamping onto her arm with the force of an industrial vice. "Claire would like a word with you in the private lounge."
Margaret’s eyes widened in sheer panic as she was effortlessly lifted off her feet and marched out of the ballroom through a side door.
Meanwhile, on the second floor, Officer Miller pushed his maintenance cart down the quiet, carpeted hallway. His heart was hammering against his ribs. He reached the door marked VIP Childcare and pulled a suppressed pistol from his waistband.
He swiped his stolen keycard. The light blinked green.
Miller kicked the door open and rushed in, his gun raised.
"Don't move!" he shouted.
The room was completely empty.
Before Miller’s brain could process the trap, the heavy oak door slammed shut behind him, locking with a definitive, electronic click.
May you like
From the shadows of the room, my father stepped forward. He didn't have a gun drawn. He didn't need one.
"Hello, Miller," my father said, unbuttoning his tuxedo jacket. "I understand you have a gambling problem. Let’s see how you do against the house."
