Chapter 8
The sudden, absolute blackness of the ballroom was pierced only by the faint, pulsing glow of the emergency exit signs casting long, distorted red shadows across the ruined wedding decorations. In the pitch-dark room, the collective murmurs of the remaining guests sounded like a swarm of angry hornets. Clara clutched the heavy envelope to her chest, her fingers digging into the thick paper as her heart hammered violently against her ribs.
"Lily? Where did you go?" Clara called out into the dark, panic tightening her throat. "Lily, answer me!"
There was no response, only the sound of soft, rapid footsteps fading away toward the service corridor.
"Clara! Stay right where you are, I'm coming to you!" Marcus’s voice boomed from a few yards away, followed by the fumbling sound of his phone’s flashlight cutting through the gloom. The bright LED beam slashed across the room, illuminating floating dust motes, scattered rose petals, and the empty space where the little girl had been standing just seconds before.
Marcus reached Clara’s side, breathing heavily, his tuxedo jacket half-off his shoulders. He aimed the phone’s light down at her face, checking her for injuries. "Are you alright? Where did the kid go?"
"She dropped this," Clara whispered, holding up the heavy envelope tied with the red ribbon. The LED light caught the neat, elegant cursive handwriting scrawled across the front: To Clara Vance: The Truth About the Man You Shared Your Bed With.
Marcus frowned, shining his light on the envelope. "Clara, you shouldn't open that here. We need to get you out of this building. Your father went down to the garage, and the security feeds just went dead completely."
Before Clara could answer, a loud, metallic crash echoed from the service stairwell behind the head table, followed by the sound of heavy boots running up the concrete steps. The heavy fire door flew open, and Arthur Vance stumbled back into the ballroom, his breathing ragged and harsh, clutching his left arm tightly against his chest.
"Dad!" Clara cried out, dropping the envelope onto a nearby chair as she sprinted toward him, Marcus right behind her with the flashlight.
Arthur collapsed against the doorframe, his face completely gray, sweat dripping off his chin. "Clara... get out... get out of the building now..."
"Dad, what happened? What's wrong with your arm?" Clara demanded, terror gripping her chest as she tried to support his heavy frame.
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"It wasn't just Julian," Arthur gasped, his eyes wide with a terrifying, unfeigned panic as he stared past Clara into the dark stairwell. "There's someone else in this hotel. Someone who funded the whole operation from the very beginning."
Before Arthur could finish his sentence, the emergency lights flickered back on with a blinding flash, revealing a tall figure standing quietly in the open doorway of the stairwell, holding Julian’s stolen steel briefcase in one hand and a silver pistol in the other.
