Chapter 5 - The Heavy Doors
The massive mahogany double doors at the rear of the Starlig.ht Grand Ballroom groaned in protest as heavy hydraulic locks began to disengage with a series of sharp, mechanical thuds. Every head in the room whipped around, away from the damning projection screen and toward the dark entryway. The murmurs died instantly, replaced by a suffocating, collective stillness so deep that the hum of the air-conditioning vents sounded like a distant jet engine.
Julian’s breath hitched in his chest. His fingers twitched against his side, his hands curling into tight fists as he stared at the shadows pooling in the hallway.
“That’s impossible,” Julian muttered, his voice barely audible even to himself. “We verified the cremation records. We checked the dental logs.”
“You checked the records your paid accountants gave you, Uncle Julian,” Maya said, standing up and smoothing down the front of her mustard-yellow cardigan. “Greed makes people sloppy. You trusted men who only cared about their retainers, so they gave you fake paper trails to keep billing you for non-existent problems.”
Clara remained on her knees on the floor, her strapless white wedding dress pooling around her like a deflated parachute. She pressed her palms flat against the polished hardwood, her chest heaving as she stared at the gap between the heavy doors where a sliver of hallway light was beginning to widen.
“No,” Clara sobbed, shaking her head violently from side to side. “No, no, no! This is a nightmare! I’m going to wake up in my suite, and we’ll be cutting the cake! This isn't happening!”
The heavy doors swung outward with a slow, agonizing creak. The harsh fluorescent lighting of the hotel service corridor spilled into the amber-lit luxury of the ballroom, cutting a stark, clinical path across the floor. Out of the shadows stepped a woman wearing a simple, worn gray coat. Her long dark hair was streaked with silver, her face gaunt and pale, bearing the unmistakable hollow eyes of someone who had spent years staring at concrete walls. But her posture was unyielding, her spine as straight as a steel beam.
Elena Vance stepped across the threshold, her gaze immediately locking onto Julian’s wide, terrified eyes.
Julian took an involuntary step back, his polished shoes sliding slightly on a spilled drop of champagne. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out—only a dry, choking gasp as the woman he had buried a thousand times in his conscience walked purposefully toward the dais.
May you like
“Hello, Julian,” Elena said, her voice raspy from disuse, carrying effortlessly across the silent ballroom. “Did you really think a ten-million-dollar bribe was enough to buy a human soul?”
---
