Chapter 5 - The Christmas Gala
They escaped through the wine cellar as glass shattered upstairs. The passage was narrow, damp, and smelled of stone. It led to a service alley three blocks away, where Nora’s security alert finally brought a guard who was loyal to her mother rather than the company.
By midnight, they were in a rented suite above a closed bakery, listening to the police radio while snow piled against the windows.
Nora wanted to take the evidence straight to the authorities, but Luis warned that Richard had friends in the local department and enough influence to make a witness disappear into paperwork. Adrian had a safer route: the Vale Automotive Christmas Gala at the Wexler Hotel, where the board would gather before the acquisition vote.
“Richard will be there,” he said. “So will the independent directors, the press, and the Voss team. If we show them proof in front of cameras, he can’t quietly bury it.”
“We don’t have proof,” Nora said. “We have a token, a frightened mechanic, and a dead man’s voicemail.”
Luis leaned forward. “I can prove the test car was altered. I can’t prove who ordered it.”
Nora looked at Adrian. “Can you get us into the gala?”
“I’m company counsel. I can get you anywhere.”
“That used to sound romantic.”
“It used to be true.”
The next evening, Nora entered the Wexler ballroom in a midnight-blue dress beneath her cobalt coat. The woman who had been blamed for her brother’s death had returned, and she had brought the man who had abandoned her.
Richard Vale stood under a crystal chandelier, silver-haired and handsome, shaking hands with the Voss delegation. When he saw Nora, he didn’t look surprised. He looked disappointed, as if she’d failed to follow a simple instruction.
“Nora,” he said, kissing the air beside her cheek. “You’re making a scene.”
“I haven’t started.”
His gaze moved to Adrian. “You were told to keep her away.”
Adrian stepped between them. “I’m not taking orders from you anymore.”
Richard’s smile tightened. “Careful. You’re standing on a very expensive floor.”
Before Nora could answer, a server slipped a folded card into her gloved hand. Inside was a room number and one sentence: ASK WHO SIGNED THE SECOND REPORT.
She looked up to find the server moving quickly toward the service doors.
May you like
Then a crash rang out behind the stage. A woman screamed, and the ballroom lights blinked twice.
When they steadied, the server was gone—and the card in Nora’s hand was wet with blood.
