Chapter 3 - The Gala of Mirrors
A week later, the annual Founders' Gala for the very charity my father had been plundering took place. Despite my injury, I wore a tailored, sharp black suit that hid my brace and arrived with an invitation secured by my new legal team. I walked with a cane, my posture rigid, my eyes scanning the ballroom like a soldier on patrol.
The room was filled with the city's elite. My father was holding court near the center stage, a glass of wine in his hand, laughing with a local councilman. Madison stood beside him, draped in diamonds that likely cost more than my surgery. When they saw me, the air shifted.
My father’s smile froze. He excused himself and marched over, his face reddening. "What are you doing here, you ungrateful wretch? You’re making a spectacle of yourself."
"I'm just observing, Dad," I said, loud enough for those nearby to hear. "I find it fascinating how much 'charity' costs these days."
"Get out," he hissed, grabbing my arm.
Before he could escalate, Mr. Sterling appeared from behind a pillar, followed by two uniformed officers. The room went silent as he stepped onto the stage, taking the microphone from the bewildered host.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Sterling announced, his voice booming. "Tonight is about giving. But some have taken much more than they were given."
My father turned pale, his grip on my arm loosening. He knew. He looked at me, realizing that the "dramatic" daughter he had dismissed was the one holding the sword.
May you like
"This isn't happening," Madison whispered, her face mask of vanity finally cracking into genuine panic.
I looked my father in the eye. "You had a chance to save me. You had a chance to be a father. Now, you’ll have plenty of time to contemplate your choices from a cell."
