Chapter 10 - The Gala Invitation
By Tuesday morning, the walls were closing in on Graham Whitcomb.
He had spent two nights staying at an airport hotel because the police had already warned him away from our Newton house, and Colette Vance’s luxury building in the South End had temporarily suspended his parking pass after Mark Higgins served their leasing office with an asset notice.
Lantern Quay was buzzing. I had called an all-hands meeting at 9:00 AM in our downtown office.
I stood before my twelve employees, clear-eyed and composed. I didn't hide the truth. I told them Graham was no longer with the company, that an audit was underway, and that all operations, payroll, and client commitments were one hundred percent secure under my sole leadership.
The team didn't panic. In fact, three of my senior project managers came up afterward and admitted Graham had been creating toxic friction, bullying junior vendors, and pushing unapproved invoices for months.
"We stayed because of you, Mara," my lead designer, Chloe, told me. "Just tell us what to do."
"What we're going to do," I said, "is execute the biggest event of the quarter."
Thursday evening was the annual *Beacon Arts & Philanthropy Gala* at the Boston Public Library. It was the premier high-society gathering of the season, bringing together Boston's wealthiest donors, real estate developers, and corporate sponsors. Lantern Quay had spent six months planning the production.
More importantly, Lantern Quay held the premier sponsor table right in front of the main stage—a table Graham had secretly re-assigned to *Vance & Whitcomb Interiors* three weeks ago.
Mark walked into my office at noon, closing the door behind him.
"Mara, you're not going to believe this. Graham contacted the gala committee chair this morning. He tried to confirm the VIP table under Colette’s name. He told them you were on bed rest due to pregnancy complications and that Vance & Whitcomb would be hosting the table on Lantern Quay’s behalf."
A cold thrill ran down my spine. "He's still trying to use our platform to launch her firm."
"Worse," Mark added. "Colette's father, Arthur Vance, just flew in from Chicago. Graham promised him a room full of Boston venture capitalists to seal a two-million-dollar expansion deal for their design firm."
"Does Arthur Vance know about me?"
"According to our sources? Arthur thinks Graham is a wealthy, divorced entrepreneur whose ex-wife lives quietly in Maine."
I stared at the gold-embossed gala invitation sitting on my desk.
"Call Evelyn," I said slowly. "And call the head of security for the Boston Public Library."
"Mara… what are you planning?"
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"Graham wants to host a table at my gala?" I smiled, a fierce, razor-sharp expression that made Mark take half a step back. "Then I wouldn't dream of letting him sit alone."
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