Chapter 7 - The Uninvited Guest
The sound of the string quartet echoed off the ancient limestone walls. Waiters in white gloves moved through the sea of tuxedos and gowns, carrying silver platters of caviar and vintage Dom Pérignon.
Julian Vance was fifty years old, thick around the middle, with slicked-back silver hair and teeth capped in blinding porcelain. He adjusted his cuff links—Kenneth Vance’s antique diamond links—and tapped the microphone with a manicured fingernail.
The crowd quieted, turning toward the stage.
“Friends, colleagues, distinguished guests,” Julian began, his voice booming through the speakers with practiced, oily warmth. “Tonight, as we gather to celebrate the vital shipping lanes that keep our great city alive, my heart is heavy with the memory of the man who built this foundation. My late, beloved uncle, Kenneth Vance.”
A polite, sympathetic ripple of applause swept through the hall.
“Seven years ago,” Julian continued, lowering his eyes in theatrical mourning, “our family suffered an unspeakable tragedy. We lost not only a great leader, but Kenneth’s beloved daughter, my sweet cousin Julianna, whose bright light was extinguished far too early by the cruel, dark waters of the Hudson.”
“She wasn't extinguished, Julian,” a clear, bell-like voice rang out across the vast hall.
The words did not come from a microphone. They did not need one. The acoustics of the ancient Egyptian wing carried the sound with crisp, terrifying clarity.
The room froze. People turned their heads toward the rear of the hall.
Julian stopped mid-sentence, a patronizing frown touching his lips. “Excuse me? If someone has had too much champagne—”
The crowd parted.
Walking down the center aisle, beneath the towering shadows of stone sphinxes, came Dante Serrano. And on his arm was the dead girl.
Julianna’s emerald gown caught the chandelier light, shimmering like deep water. Her eyes were locked onto Julian with an intensity so fierce, so unyielding, that the microphone in Julian’s hand began to emit a high-pitched screech of feedback as his fingers spasmed.
“You always were a terrible liar, cousin,” Julianna said, stepping onto the raised platform.
Gasps tore through the audience. A woman in the second row dropped her crystal glass, the champagne splashing across her satin heels. Kenneth Vance’s former business partners stood frozen, their eyes bulging as they recognized the girl they had watched grow up in the Vance boardroom.
“Julianna?” an elderly board member whispered, his cane trembling against the floor. “My God… it’s Kenneth’s girl.”
Julian stumbled back a step, knocking over a vase of white roses. The water spilled across the stage, wetting the cuffs of his trousers. His face drained of all color, shifting from pale ivory to an ugly, sickly gray.
May you like
“You’re… you’re dead,” Julian stammered into the live microphone, his voice cracking into a high-pitched whine that echoed across the entire museum. “You drowned! I saw the car! I saw the reports!”
“You paid for the reports, Julian,” Julianna said, taking the final step to the center of the stage. She stopped two feet from him. She reached out and touched the gold watch on his wrist. “And you took my father’s watch while he was still breathing.”
