Chapter 7 - THE GALA CRASHERS
The ballroom of the Grand Hotel was dripping in crystal chandeliers and expensive champagne. Eleanor Thorne stood at the podium in a stunning silver gown, smiling warmly as she accepted an award for her "philanthropic contributions to pediatric care."
It made me physically sick.
I didn't bother wearing a tuxedo. I walked through the heavy mahogany doors of the ballroom wearing my navy blue EMT uniform, the same uniform I was wearing when I pulled the mother of my child out of a crushed car.
Tommy was in the AV booth upstairs, having easily bypassed the teenage hotel staff working the soundboard.
As Eleanor began her acceptance speech, talking about the importance of family and charity, I walked straight down the center aisle.
Murmurs rippled through the crowd of billionaires, politicians, and doctors. Eleanor stopped speaking, her eyes locking onto me. The fake smile faltered.
"Marcus," she said into the microphone, trying to sound pleasantly surprised. "What an unexpected surprise. Please, take a seat."
"I'm not staying, Mother," I said, stopping in front of the stage. My voice carried clearly across the silent ballroom. "I just came to share your real legacy with the board."
I looked up at the AV booth and gave Tommy the signal.
The massive projection screens behind the stage, which were meant to show a slideshow of sick children, suddenly went black.
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Then, the audio kicked in. The crystal-clear surround sound speakers blasted my mother’s voice across the room.
“Break her windows. Shut off her heat. Marcus cannot find out about that child. If he sees that little girl, he’ll know she’s his. I paid that tramp two hundred thousand dollars to disappear...”
