Chapter 6 - The Framing Attempt
The sun dipped below the horizon, bathing the western gardens in a bruised twilight of purple and gold. Inside the ballroom, the charity gala was in full swing. Grand crystal chandeliers cast brilliant, high-contrast light over sweeping silk gowns, black tuxedos, and the low murmur of wealthy donors sipping champagne.
I stood near the service entrance of the ballroom, wearing my standard black-and-white uniform, holding a tray of canapés. My eyes scanned the crowd, tracking the movement of crimson silk. Beatrice Vance was circulating near the dais, laughing too loudly with a pair of municipal councilmen, playing the gracious hostess. But her eyes kept darting toward the side corridors, restless and searching.
During a brief lull in the crowd movement, I slipped away from the ballroom doors and headed down the quiet, dimly lit hallway toward the staff quarters to check the security monitor feeds Julian had routed to my small station.
As I reached the threshold of my room, I noticed the door was slightly ajar.
I stopped dead in my tracks. I had locked it before leaving for the evening shift.
Moving silently, I pushed the door open a few inches and peered inside. A figure in a dark evening jacket stood near my small wooden dresser. In the dim light filtering through the window, I recognized the slim, expensive silhouette. It was Marcus, one of Beatrice’s personal aides. He held a velvet jewelry pouch, sliding it deep under the loose floorboards beneath my cot.
Before I could back away, Marcus turned sharply, his eyes widening in surprise. He lunged toward the door, trying to push past me.
"Hey! Get out of my room!" I shouted, dropping my tray of canapés as I grabbed the edge of the doorframe to block his exit.
Marcus shoved hard against my shoulder, sending me stumbling back against the corridor wall. "Keep your nose out of places it doesn't belong, little girl," he hissed, spinning around and breaking into a fast jog down the hallway toward the west wing stairs.
I pushed myself upright, breathing heavily, and rushed into my room. Kneeling down beside the cot, I pried up the loose floorboard. Inside sat a heavy diamond necklace and a velvet ledger box stamped with the Vance Foundation crest—stolen items from the display vault downstairs.
The framing attempt was crude, desperate, and entirely transparent.
Ten minutes later, I stood in Julian’s private study. The door was locked. Julian stood by his desk, watching the live replay on his laptop screen. The overhead security camera positioned in the staff corridor had captured every second of Marcus entering my room, planting the pouch, and shoving me against the wall.
"He was acting on Beatrice's orders," I said, my voice tight with adrenaline as I pointed to the screen. "She's trying to get me arrested for theft before the board reviews the financial logs tomorrow morning."
Julian watched the screen loop once more, his face hardening into an expression of cold, absolute fury. He closed the laptop with a sharp snap that echoed in the quiet room.
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"She's run out of time, and she knows it," Julian said, walking over to the heavy mahogany door and pulling it open. He turned back to me, extending a hand to steady me. "Come with me, Elise. Let's go show my dear cousin what real evidence looks like."
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