Chapter 7 - The Newport Gala
The Grand Ballroom of the Newport Rosecliff Mansion was bathed in champagne light.
Crystal chandeliers gleamed above two hundred guests dressed in tuxedos and floor-length silk gowns. String quartets played softly in the background while waiters floated through the crowd carrying silver trays of caviar and vintage wine.
At the center head table sat Margaret Whitmore Parker.
She looked radiant—dressed in a emerald green velvet gown, wearing a multi-carat diamond necklace, her graying hair styled in a flawless updo. Sitting to her left was my older brother, Julian, sipping scotch with an uncomfortable, nervous expression. To her right was my Aunt Evelyn, fanning herself with a silk program.
Margaret was beaming, holding court with local senators, bank presidents, and corporate judges.
She believed her security team had secured Ravenwick Island. She believed I was hiding in some cheap motel in Portland, broken and bankrupt.
At 9:00 PM, the Society President took the stage microphone.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the President announced, his voice echoing through the grand hall. "Tonight, we honor a woman who embodies the very spirit of New England philanthropy. A woman who carried her family through tragedy and built the Parker Foundation into a beacon of hope—Mrs. Margaret Whitmore Parker!"
Applaud erupted across the room.
Margaret stood up gracefully, smoothing her velvet gown, preparing to step onto the stage to accept her crystal trophy.
CLACK. CLACK. CLACK.
The heavy double doors at the back of the ballroom swung wide open.
The room fell quiet as a single figure walked down the velvet-carpeted center aisle.
I wore the exact same black dress from four nights ago. My hair was pulled back into a sleek, professional knot. My posture was military-straight. Behind me walked four federal agents in dark suits, flanked by Director Sterling.
The crowd began to whisper frantically.
"Is that Jenna?"
"What is she doing here?"
"Look who's behind her!"
Margaret froze at the edge of the stage. Her emerald eyes widened in sheer, unadulterated shock as she saw me walking toward her. Her hand clutched her diamond necklace so tightly her knuckles turned white.
Julian dropped his glass of scotch onto the floor, the crystal shattering with a loud crash.
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I stopped five feet from the head table, looking my mother straight in the eye.
"Hello, Margaret," I said, my voice carrying clearly across the silent ballroom. "You told me to come home before things got worse. Well... things just got worse."
