Chapter 11 - THE GALAThe grand ballroom of the Pierre Hotel was packed with New York's elite. Cameras flashed as Evelyn stood on the podium, accepting a lifetime achievement award for her charitable work in "children's mental health."
The hypocrisy of it tasted like ash in my mouth.
I stood in the wings, adjusting my earpiece. I had spent the last forty-eight hours setting the stage. Jessica was seated at the front table, looking fragile and exhausted. I had spent the afternoon discreetly gaslighting her—moving her phone, hiding her medication, and spraying the scent of smoke in her dressing room until she was on the verge of a total psychological collapse.
Evelyn leaned into the microphone, smiling magnanimously. "We must protect the vulnerable children of our society. They are our future. They are our light."
"Now," I whispered into the radio on my lapel.
My hired tech contact in the AV booth hit the switch.
Suddenly, the massive screens behind Evelyn flickered. Her smiling face was replaced by a stark, terrifying image. It was a photograph of a charred, ruined bedroom. The bedroom from fifteen years ago.
The crowd gasped. Murmurs rippled through the ballroom.
Evelyn turned around, her smile freezing into a mask of horror. "What... what is this? Turn that off!"
The screens shifted again. This time, an audio file began to play over the massive sound system. It wasn't my father's recording. It was a recording I had taken secretly two days ago in the penthouse, of Jessica sobbing.
“Mom made me! Mom said we had to walk away! We locked the door and she was crying for help and we left her to burn! We killed her!”
Jessica’s voice echoed off the crystal chandeliers.
Complete, stunned silence descended upon the room of five hundred people.
Jessica bolted out of her chair, her hands clutching her head. "I didn't mean to!" she screamed at the crowd, her mind finally snapping under the weight of the guilt and the manipulation. "She made me! My mother locked the door!"
"Security!" Evelyn shrieked, dropping her award. "Get her out of here! She's having a psychotic episode!"
But the damage was done. The reporters in the back were already recording on their phones. Investors were backing away from the tables. The illusion was shattered.
I walked out from the wings, stepping directly into Evelyn’s line of sight.
She looked at me. The panic in her eyes slowly morphed into a terrifying, absolute realization. She saw the shape of my eyes. She saw the cold, unyielding stance.
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"You," Evelyn whispered, the microphone picking up the single, terrified word.
I gave her a slow, predatory smile, then turned and walked out the side exit before the chaos consumed them.
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