Chapter 2 - THE WAITING ROOM OF GHOSTS
The grand ballroom of the St. Regis was dead silent, but beneath the surface, six hundred phone screens were glowing like fireflies. Whispers spread faster than a spark in dry timber.
"Did Ethan Mercer just hit his wife?"
"Who is her family again?"
"I heard she was an orphan or something... wasn't her mother a schoolteacher?"
Ethan tried to reach for my arm, his hand trembling slightly. "Nora, look... you made me do that. You spoke out of turn to my mother in front of the entire board. Just go to the powder room, clean yourself up, and we’ll talk about this in the car."
I pulled my arm back, stepping out of his reach. "Touch me again, Ethan, and the next blow won't come from your fist; it will come from a judge."
Vivian let out a sharp, aristocratic laugh, taking a long sip of her Dom Pérignon. "A judge? On what budget, Nora darling? You live in my family’s estate. You drive a car registered to Mercer Enterprises. Your clothes were charged to Ethan's card. You came to us with a wooden trunk and a low-tier state college degree. Don't embarrass yourself further."
I didn't answer. I stood near the marble podium, my navy silk gown draped around me like armor, holding that white napkin to my lip.
Ten minutes passed. Then twenty.
The gala organizers tried to resume the evening. The quartet started playing a soft jazz standard, but nobody was listening. Everyone was watching the double oak doors at the back of the ballroom.
At 10:15 PM, the heavy brass handles turned.
A woman walked into the room. She was wearing a simple, dark grey cashmere coat over a tailored black pantsuit. Her hair was pulled back into a sleek, silver-threaded bun. She didn't walk like a middle-class schoolteacher. She walked like someone who owned the ground beneath her feet.
Behind her walked two men in charcoal suits, carrying leather briefcases.
"Who invited the help?" Vivian muttered under her breath, turning toward the entrance.
My mother, Eleanor Vance, didn't look at the crowd. Her sharp blue eyes swept the ballroom until they landed on me. She saw the red welt on my cheekbone. She saw the blood on the white napkin.
Something terrifying shifted in her expression—a cold, absolute darkness that I hadn't seen since I was ten years old.
"Nora," Eleanor said, her voice carrying across the silent hall without her even raising it. "Step away from those people."
I walked away from Ethan and Vivian, standing firmly beside my mother.
"What is the meaning of this intrusion?" Vivian demanded, stepping forward with her chin high. "This is a private Mercer Foundation event! Security, remove these people!"
The two security guards at the door took one step forward, looked at the elder of the two men standing behind my mother, and froze.
"I wouldn't do that, gentlemen," the man behind my mother said quietly. He pulled a gold-embossed card from his breast pocket and held it out. "I am Arthur Pendelton, senior partner at Pendelton, Reed & Sterling. We represent Vance Global Logistics."
A collective murmur went through the room.
Vance Global.
The third-largest maritime shipping conglomerate on the East Coast. The company that controlled seventy percent of the container ports in the state.
May you like
Ethan’s face went from pale to ghostly white. "Vance? Like... Eleanor Vance?"
"Hello, Ethan," my mother said softly, her eyes fixing him to the floor. "It’s been a while since your father begged my board for a short-term liquidity loan. It seems your family has forgotten whose hands feed them."
