Chapter 3 - THE ARRIVAL OF THE GUESTS
By 11:15 AM, the penthouse was transformed into a glittering hall of high-society pretense.
Fiona had traded her silk robe for an emerald-green custom gown that I had unwittingly financed through her stolen credit card line three months prior. Her hair was styled in a rigid, lacquered updos, and diamond earrings sparked from her lobes as she fluttered around the living room, barking orders at the two temp servers she had hired using my account.
Julian wore a tailored tuxedo, floating around the marble bar and pouring vintage champagne into crystal flutes. He looked entirely smug—a man who believed he had brought his wife to heel while preserving his family's grand illusion.
"Sloan!" Fiona snapped as I walked back through the double front doors at 11:28 AM, wearing my crisp, ice-blue silk suit. "Where have you been? The catering vans are downstairs! You should be in the kitchen directing the staff!"
"The catering team knows exactly where to go, Fiona," I said quietly, checking my watch.
11:29 AM.
Precisely on cue, the private service elevator chimed. Four tall, immaculately dressed staff members from West Loop’s premier catering house rolled in eight heated stainless-steel carts. Atop the carts sat sixty massive, polished silver-domed chafing dishes, emitting a mouth-watering aroma of roasted meats, truffles, and aromatic spices.
Julian stepped forward, puffing out his chest. "Set them across the long dining table! Group them by region!" he instructed, acting like the master of the house.
At 11:45 AM, the doorbell rang. The guests began to arrive.
It was a parade of Chicago’s most elitist socialites: wives of local politicians, prominent real estate moguls, and board members of the Gold Coast Preservation Society. They swept into the penthouse in furs, silk wraps, and blinding jewelry, gushing over the floor-to-ceiling lake views.
"Fiona, darling! Happy Sixtieth!" sang Evelyn Croft, the wife of a federal judge and the undisputed queen of the local social circle. "This place is breathtaking! And what is this magnificent scent?"
Fiona practically beamed with narcissistic pride, taking Evelyn’s hands. "Oh, Evelyn! I simply insisted on a sixty-dish heritage feast to celebrate my diamond milestone! I had my private culinary team curate sixty individual, authentic regional recipes. Everything is kept warm under those silver domes."
"Sixty dishes!" another woman gasped. "Fiona, you are truly spoiled! Julian, you must have worked so hard to arrange this for your mother."
Julian put an arm around Fiona’s shoulders, smiling grandly for the photo cameras several guests were holding up. "Nothing is too good for my mother," Julian declared loudly, casting a subtle, warning glare in my direction. "Family comes first in this house. Unconditional obedience and devotion."
I stood near the edge of the marble foyer, holding a glass of sparkling water, my face a mask of polite serenity.
11:58 AM.
My phone vibrated once in my pocket. A text message from Darcy:
Phase One executed. Police escort and process servers entered the lobby elevator. 30 seconds.
Fiona tapped her champagne glass with a silver spoon, drawing the crowd’s attention to the grand dining table where the sixty gleaming silver domes reflected the chandelier light.
"Everyone, please gather around!" Fiona announced, her voice echoing with triumphant delight. "Before we toast, I want to formally unveil this sixty-course feast of honor!"
The crowd gathered in a semi-circle around the thirty-foot mahogany table. Julian took his place beside his mother, lifting his glass high.
"To my mother, Fiona!" Julian boomed. "A woman of true class!"
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Fiona reached out, placing her hand on the handle of the center silver dome. "Let the feast begin!" she declared, dramatically lifting the silver cover.
At that exact second, the heavy oak front doors of the penthouse burst open with a loud, resounding thud.
