Chapter 3 - The Gala Confrontation
The Metropolitan Museum of Art was bathed in golden light, playing host to the most elite figures of the Eastern Seaboard. Eleanor stepped out of her bulletproof town car, the picture of aristocratic perfection in a plunging black velvet gown, though her sapphire pendant felt like armor tonight. Jax moved seamlessly into the shadows of the catering entrance, communicating through an earpiece hidden beneath her hair.
“I have eyes on Hayes,” Jax’s voice crackled. “He’s sweating through his tuxedo in the VIP lounge. Second floor. Two private security guards at the door.”
"I’ll handle the guards," Eleanor murmured, flashing a brilliant, fake smile for the paparazzi.
She glided up the grand staircase. The two massive guards in front of the VIP lounge crossed their arms as she approached.
"Private event, Ms. Vance," the taller one grunted.
"I own the building this museum's endowment is housed in, gentlemen," Eleanor said, her tone lethal. "Move, or you’ll be working mall security in Ohio by morning."
They hesitated, but Eleanor didn't wait. She pushed past them, locking the heavy mahogany doors behind her.
Senator Hayes leaped from the leather sofa, spilling his scotch. He was pale, his eyes darting frantically. "Eleanor! You shouldn't be here. I told them I couldn't reach you!"
"Who did you tell, Arthur?" Eleanor demanded, closing the distance between them. She grabbed the lapels of his tuxedo, pinning the older man against the wall. "Who has my son?"
"You don't understand!" Hayes whimpered, tears springing to his eyes. "It was never about the boy. It was about Richard! Your husband uncovered their offshore accounts before he died. They took Leo to keep you in line, to make sure you never dug into Vance Holdings' shell companies!"
"Who are 'they'?" she screamed, shaking him.
Hayes opened his mouth, terrified. "It’s someone close to you, Eleanor. Someone who—"
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Suddenly, Hayes gasped. His eyes rolled back into his head, and white foam bubbled at the corners of his mouth. He collapsed to the floor, convulsing violently. Eleanor backed away in horror. The scotch glass lay shattered on the floor, smelling faintly of bitter almonds. Cyanide.
“Eleanor, get out of there!” Jax yelled in her ear. “The guards are breaking down the door. They’re framing you!”
