Chapter 7 - THE GALA OF LIES
The parking lot of Oak Creek Assisted Living was packed with luxury vehicles.
It was noon. The annual Family Gala was in full swing.
I walked through the grand double doors of the facility. The lobby was decorated with elegant ice sculptures and massive floral arrangements. A string quartet played softly in the corner.
Dozens of wealthy families milled about, sipping champagne, completely oblivious to the fact that their parents and grandparents were slowly being murdered in the rooms down the hall.
I bypassed the greeting table and walked directly into the main ballroom.
The room was crowded. Residents sat in wheelchairs or leaned on walkers, dressed in their Sunday best. But if you looked closely—really looked—you could see the hollows of their cheeks, the frailness of their wrists, the exhausted, sunken look in their eyes.
I scanned the room.
And then I saw him.
My father.
He was sitting in a wheelchair near the back of the room. He was wearing a freshly pressed suit that hung off him like a tent.
Standing directly behind him, her hands resting firmly on the handles of his wheelchair, was Brenda.
And standing next to them was Elias Vance.
Elias was holding a microphone, laughing charmingly with a group of wealthy donors. When he saw me enter, his eyes locked onto mine. He excused himself from the group and walked toward me.
“David,” Elias smiled, extending a hand as if we were old friends. “I’m so glad you could make it.”
I didn't take his hand.
“Where is Lily?” I demanded, keeping my voice low.
“Lily is safe upstairs in my office,” Elias said smoothly. “Do you have the item we discussed?”
I patted my jacket pocket. “I have it. Let my father go first.”
Elias chuckled. “I don't think you’re in a position to negotiate sequence, David. Give me the drive, and then you can wheel Harold out the front door.”
I looked over Elias’s shoulder at my father.
Harold caught my eye.
He didn't look terrified anymore. He looked determined.
He gave me a single, almost imperceptible nod.
I didn't understand what he meant. But then I noticed his hands.
My father’s hands were resting in his lap. And clasped loosely in his right hand was the heavy metal flashlight I had left on my kitchen counter. He had smuggled it out of my house.
“Give me the drive, David,” Elias repeated, his smile tightening. “Don't make a scene in front of the board of directors.”
I reached into my pocket.
But I didn't pull out the flash drive.
I pulled out my phone.
I had synced it to the facility's Bluetooth sound system when I walked in.
I pressed play.
Suddenly, the soft, elegant music of the string quartet cut out.
Through the massive ballroom speakers, a voice boomed perfectly clear.
“If you step foot into a police station, I will inject your father with a lethal dose of potassium chloride.”
It was Elias’s voice. From our phone call an hour ago.
The entire ballroom went dead silent.
People stopped drinking. They stopped talking.
“I will put my niece in a facility for severely troubled youth. The kind with padded walls and heavy sedatives.”
Elias’s face drained of color. He lunged toward me, trying to grab the phone.
I stepped back, holding it high.
“Every time a resident passes away, Sterling Holdings cashes a million-dollar life insurance policy. It’s just business, David.”
I had used an AI voice-isolation app in my car to clean up the recording of our call. It was undeniable.
The Chairman of the Board of Directors, an older man standing near the buffet table, dropped his champagne glass. It shattered on the marble floor.
“Elias,” the Chairman said, his voice trembling. “What is this?”
Elias completely panicked. The sophisticated, charming facade shattered, revealing the desperate, violent criminal underneath.
“Turn it off!” Elias screamed at me.
He reached into his jacket. I knew exactly what he was reaching for. The syringe. Or a weapon.
But before Elias could touch me, a heavy, metallic CRACK echoed through the room.
Elias cried out in pain, stumbling forward, grabbing his knee.
I looked past him.
My eighty-three-year-old father had swung the heavy metal flashlight with everything he had, striking Elias directly in the kneecap.
Elias collapsed onto the floor, cursing in agony.
“Don't you ever threaten my family again,” my father wheezed, his chest heaving with exertion.
Brenda stepped forward. She looked down at Elias groaning on the floor. She looked at the horrified crowd. And she made her choice.
Brenda reached into her pocket, pulled out the keys to Elias’s private office, and tossed them to me.
“Third floor,” Brenda yelled over the chaos. “End of the hall. Go get the little girl!”
I didn't hesitate. I sprinted toward the lobby elevators.
The doors opened, and I hit the button for the third floor.
The elevator music chimed cheerfully as I ascended, a surreal contrast to the madness below.
I burst onto the third floor and ran down the corridor.
Elias’s office was locked. I fumbled with the keys Brenda had given me, finally sliding the right one into the lock.
I pushed the heavy oak door open.
“Lily!” I called out.
The office was empty.
I checked under the desk. Behind the leather sofa. In the closet.
Nothing.
My heart dropped into my stomach. Brenda had lied. Or Elias had moved her again.
I turned around to leave the office, when I noticed the large, flat-screen monitor on Elias’s desk.
It was displaying a live feed from the facility’s security cameras.
I scanned the screens.
The lobby. The ballroom. The kitchen.
And then my eyes locked onto the feed from the basement loading dock.
A man in a dark suit was dragging a struggling little girl in a yellow raincoat toward a black van.
It wasn't Elias. Elias was downstairs with a broken knee.
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It was the pawn shop owner. Elias’s middleman.
And he was taking Lily.
