CHAPTER 11: Carnegie Hall
The golden tiers of Carnegie Hall were packed to maximum capacity. Critics, celebrities, and classical music aficionados from around the globe filled the red velvet seats. In the VIP box on the second tier sat Arthur Vance, looking frail and hollowed-out, flanked by his high-priced defense attorneys, desperate to maintain appearances.
Julian sat in the front row of the orchestra section, his heart pounding in his chest.
The announcer stepped to the microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen, our final competitor of the evening: Miss Lily Vance, performing an original concerto titled *‘Song for Clara.’*”
Lily walked onto the grand stage wearing a simple, elegant navy blue dress. There was a slight, imperceptible hitch in her right step—a subtle reminder of the mountain she had climbed—but she walked with the regal poise of someone who knew exactly who she was.
She bowed politely to the audience, adjusted the bench, and took a deep, centering breath.
The hall held its breath.
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Lily placed her fingers on the keys, and the first chord exploded through the acoustics of Carnegie Hall like a burst of brilliant morning light.
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