Chapter 2
The room went instantly, suffocatingly quiet. Conversations died in mid-sentence. At the champagne tower ten feet away, Senator Vance froze with a crystal glass halfway to his lips, staring at the woman gasping for air on the chair.
Silas stepped forward, planting his six-foot-four frame between Ottilia and the child.
"Stay behind Silas, Fleur," Edric said quietly, never taking his eyes off his sister.
"Daddy, my shoes hurt," Fleur whimpered, her tiny fingers knotted into Silas’s trousers. "Can we go home now?"
"In a minute, sweetheart," Edric replied. "We have to finish talking to Aunt Ottilia first."
Ottilia pulled herself upright, coughing violently, her hands clutching her bruised ribs. "You… you psychotic bastard… you struck me in front of the entire family…"
"You swung at me in front of my daughter," Edric said, his voice dropping into that terrible, flat register that preceded executions. "Where were you planning to send my car, Ottilia?"
"Nowhere!" she choked out, her rosy cheeks turning an ugly, mottled crimson. "I don't know what you're talking about! The child is hallucinating!"
The phone on the cushion vibrated again. A harsh, rhythmic hum that cut through the silence like a saw.
Ottilia lunged for the screen with both hands. "Give me that! That’s my private phone!"
Edric moved faster. His arm extended, his thick fingers scooping the device off the velvet before her nails could touch the glass. He turned the phone in his palm, deliberately keeping the lit screen angled toward his chest and away from the staring socialites.
Outside on the driveway, the black town car’s high beams suddenly flicked on, casting two blinding white circles against the glass terrace doors.
Edric looked down at the display. The caller ID showed no name, only an internal extension: CAR 1 - SECURE.
"Tommy is calling you, Ottilia," Edric said.
"He’s my driver too, Edric!" Ottilia cried, her voice climbing into hysterical registers. "He was asking what time you wanted the luggage brought down! That’s all! Ask him yourself!"
"Oh, you’re going to ask him," Edric said. He extended the vibrating phone toward her, his thumb hovering over the green button. "Take it."
Ottilia drew her hands back, tucking them against her waist. "No. You take it. It’s your birthday."
"Take the phone, Ottilia," Edric repeated, his voice low, deliberate, and carrying to every frozen guest in the parlor. "Answer. Tell the driver you’re coming with me."
"I’m not getting into that car with you!" she shrieked. "You just kicked me! You’re out of your mind!"
"Why aren't you getting into the car, Ottilia?" Edric asked, stepping until his shoes touched the hem of her gown. "It’s my favorite town car. Armored plating. Custom leather. You rode in it on Tuesday."
"I don't want to ride in it tonight!" she stammered, her eyes darting toward the terrace doors where the headlights illuminated the terrace balustrade. "I have my own car! Marcus is driving me home!"
"Marcus took the train to Boston this morning," Edric said. "Answer the phone."
"No!"
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Edric swiped the green icon with his thumb and tapped the speaker button.
A man’s voice echoed into the silent room, crisp, professional, and entirely unbothered by the music: "Mrs. Whitburn? We’re set. Remote charge is armed under the passenger floorboards. The minute Mr. Whitburn clears the club gates, I’ll roll out the driver's side and trigger the line. Is the girl secured in the nursery?"
