Chapter 2 - THE SILENCE AT TABLE FOUR
The silence at the table was so absolute I could hear the ice melting in Vivian’s water glass.
Hartley Howard stared at me, his perfectly tanned face suddenly looking gray and fragile under the chandelier light. His hand, which had been adjusting his expensive silk tie a moment before, dropped to the table like a lead weight.
“Quantum Crisis Solutions,” Hartley said, the words catching in his throat. “You’re the new Division Director?”
I took a slow, deliberate sip of my water. “I start Monday at eight. I prefer my team to be in the conference room by seven forty-five.”
Vivian let out a sharp, breathless sound, her eyes darting between her husband and me. She tried to deploy her usual condescending smile, but her lips only twitched.
“Hartley,” Vivian whispered, her voice tight. “What is she talking about?”
Wesley leaned forward, his performing smile faltering. He looked like a little boy who had just been caught stealing from a collection plate. “Dad? What does she mean she’s your boss?”
Hartley didn’t answer his son. He kept his eyes locked on mine, searching for any sign that this was a cruel joke. He found nothing but the cold, practiced stillness I had honed over thirty years of corporate restructuring.
I looked at my daughter.
Inez was staring at me, her hands gripping her bridal bouquet so tightly her knuckles were white. For the first time all evening, the haze of anxiety in her eyes had parted, replaced by a flickering spark of shock.
Before the silence could stretch any further, the wedding planner—a frantic woman with a headset—rushed up to our table.
“Mr. Howard,” she said, touching Wesley’s shoulder. “It’s time for the father-daughter dance. We need you on the floor for the transition.”
Wesley blinked, pulling himself out of the shock. He stood up, smoothing his tailored jacket. He reached down and grabbed Inez’s arm. Not a gentle touch. A firm, controlling grip.
“Let’s go, Inez,” Wesley muttered, pulling her out of her chair.
As Inez stood, her small beaded clutch caught on the edge of the table and tumbled to the floor. The clasp popped open.
I leaned down to pick it up.
A small, folded piece of yellow paper had spilled out onto the carpet.
I recognized the carbon paper immediately. It was a bank deposit slip.
I picked it up, intending to stuff it back into her purse. But the numbers caught the light.
Deposit: $35,000.00.
It was the exact amount of the check I had written for the wedding venue. But the receiving account didn’t belong to The Belleview Hotel.
The account name printed on the slip was Howard Global Ventures LLC.
I froze. I knew how to read financial documents the way other people read the morning weather. My wedding check hadn’t gone to the venue. It had gone directly into a corporate account controlled by Wesley and Hartley.
If they had pocketed the venue money, then who had paid for the ballroom we were currently sitting in?
I looked up. Hartley was watching me hold the yellow slip, a bead of sweat tracing the line of his jaw.
“You didn’t pay the hotel,” I said, my voice barely a whisper, but it cut through the jazz music playing in the background.
Hartley stood up abruptly, knocking his chair back. “Eleanor, this isn’t the time or the place. Let’s discuss this on Monday. Professionally.”
“I paid for this wedding,” I said, standing up to meet him eye-to-eye. “Which makes it my business right now. Where did my money go, Hartley?”
Vivian stood up, her face flushed with anger and embarrassment as nearby tables began to look over. “How dare you cause a scene at my son’s wedding!”
“Your son,” I said coldly, “is currently dancing on a floor I financed, wearing a watch bought with stolen money.”
I didn’t wait for their response. I turned and walked away from the table, my heart hammering against my ribs. I needed to find Inez.
I pushed through the crowd of swaying couples and forced laughter. I checked the dance floor, but Inez and Wesley were not there. The band was playing, but the bride and groom had vanished.
I walked quickly toward the hallway leading to the bridal suites.
As I rounded the corner, I heard muffled crying.
I pushed the heavy oak door of the bridal suite open.
Inez was sitting on the edge of a velvet sofa, her beautiful lace dress spilling around her like a broken cloud. She was weeping, her face buried in her hands.
“Inez,” I said, rushing toward her.
She looked up, her mascara smudged, her eyes wide with terror.
But it wasn't the tears that stopped me in my tracks.
It was what she was holding out to me in her trembling hand.
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It was a small, white cardboard tag with a barcode printed on it. A pawn shop ticket.
“Mom,” Inez choked out, her voice raw. “He took grandma’s pearls. He took them this morning.”
