Chapter 5 - The Gala of Thieves
My blood ran completely cold as Evan’s mocking voice echoed quietly from the small speaker of my mobile phone.
I showed the terrifying video feed to Richard, whose face hardened into an unrecognizable mask of pure, protective rage.
Evan had known the entire time that the frozen body at the bottom of Ravenstone Cliff was never recovered by his cleanup crew.
The funeral, the public tears, the dramatic mourning at the cathedral had all been a meticulously staged theatrical performance designed specifically to draw us out.
He wanted us to think we held the upper hand so we would comfortably wait for the wire transfer to clear.
Thorne slammed his foot on the accelerator, pushing the heavy armored SUV to dangerous speeds along the treacherous, icy mountain curves.
Richard made a rapid series of phone calls, completely liquidating his private stock portfolios to build an untraceable war chest of cash.
We arrived at a massive, heavily fortified underground bunker located beneath a forgotten, abandoned industrial warehouse outside the city limits.
The bunker was fully stocked with medical supplies, encrypted communication servers, and an entire armory of high-grade military weaponry.
I sat on a small cot, rocking my baby boy to sleep while Richard and Thorne mapped out our desperate counterattack on a digital whiteboard.
Marcus Vance was hosting the annual Whitmore Atlantic charity gala at a luxurious downtown hotel the following evening.
It was a highly publicized, black-tie event filled with politicians, judges, and the most powerful financial elites in the entire state.
Evan and Celeste were the officially invited guests of honor, slated to give a heartbreaking speech about my tragic, untimely death.
Richard explained that Marcus intended to use the high-profile gala as a smokescreen to finalize the laundering of the fifty million dollars.
They needed absolute public legitimacy to cover the massive, gaping hole in the insurance company’s quarterly financial ledgers.
I looked down at my sleeping son, feeling a sudden, overwhelming surge of fierce, maternal courage completely replace my lingering fear.
I told Richard that I was tired of hiding in the shadows like a frightened victim waiting for the next assassination attempt.
I demanded that we crash the gala tomorrow night and expose every single lie in front of the entire city.
Richard smiled proudly, a dangerous glint shining in his older, storm-grey eyes as he unlocked a heavy steel shipping trunk.
He pulled out a stunning, blood-red designer evening gown that he had custom-ordered for my mother decades ago.
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He handed me the beautiful dress and told me it was time for the dead wife to make a spectacular resurrection.
Just then, the bunker's massive blast doors began to groan and shake violently as a deafening explosion rocked the concrete foundation above us.
