Chapter 5 - The First Move: A Ghost at the Feast
The next morning,
I was waiting in the kitchen when Julian came down.
He looked surprised to see me dressed and ready.
I was wearing a gray suit,
my hair pulled back into a tight,
severe bun.
“You look like you’re going to a board meeting,”
he said,
pouring a cup of coffee.
“I’m going to a funeral,”
I replied.
“The funeral of Michael Lane’s peace of mind.”
I pushed a piece of paper across the island toward him.
“I need you to get me into the Pierre Hotel tonight.”
Julian squinted at the paper.
“The Charity Gala for the Children’s Hospital?”
“Michael is the keynote speaker,”
I said.
“He’s receiving an award for his ‘philanthropy’.”
Julian shook his head.
“Evelyn,
it’s too soon.”
“You just got out.”
“If you show up there,
it’ll be a scene.”
“They’ll call security.”
“They’ll use it to prove you’re still stalking them.”
I looked at him,
my gaze steady.
“I’m not going as Evelyn Lane.”
“I’m going as a guest of Vance International.”
Julian paused,
the coffee pot hovering in mid-air.
“You want to go as my date?”
“I want to go as your consultant,”
I corrected.
“Wear a mask,
Julian.”
“Not a literal one.”
“But a mask of professional distance.”
“The room will be dark during the keynote.”
“I only need him to see me for a second.”
“I want him to know that the three years are over.”
Julian sat down,
his expression thoughtful.
“It’s a high-risk play.”
“If Rachel sees you,
she’ll scream.”
“She’ll make it a spectacle.”
“She won't,”
I said.
“Because Rachel is obsessed with her image.”
“She’s spent three years building the ‘Perfect Wife’ persona.”
“She won't want to ruin a gala with a hysterical outburst.”
“She’ll try to handle it quietly.”
“And that’s when I’ll have her.”
Julian sighed,
but I saw the spark of excitement in his eyes.
He had always loved a bold move.
“I’ll get the tickets,”
he said.
“But you need a dress that doesn't look like a CEO’s uniform.”
“You need to look like a mystery.”
That evening,
the Pierre Hotel was a sea of light and noise.
The air was thick with the scent of lilies and expensive cologne.
I wore a dress of midnight blue velvet.
It was high-necked and long-sleeved,
covering every inch of the skin that had been marked by prison.
A thin silver mask covered the upper half of my face—a common accessory for this particular ‘Masquerade’ themed gala.
Julian walked beside me,
his presence a solid weight.
“Do you see them?”
he whispered.
I looked toward the stage.
There he was.
Michael.
He looked older.
His hair was graying at the temples,
giving him an air of distinguished authority.
He was laughing at something a donor said.
He looked perfectly at ease.
Beside him stood Rachel.
She was in a dress of shimmering gold.
She looked like a trophy.
She was playing the part of the supportive spouse,
touching his arm,
smiling at the right moments.
It was a perfect performance.
“The keynote starts in ten minutes,”
Julian said.
“What’s the plan?”
“I’m going to the backstage area,”
I said.
“He always takes a moment alone before he speaks.”
“He gets nervous.”
“He needs to check his tie in a mirror.”
I slipped away from Julian,
moving through the crowd like a shadow.
I knew the layout of the Pierre.
I had hosted dozens of events here.
I found the hallway leading to the green room.
Two security guards stood at the end,
but they were distracted by a celebrity arriving at the other entrance.
I slipped through a side door.
The air in the hallway was cooler.
I heard footsteps.
I stepped into the alcove of a large ornamental vase.
Michael walked past.
He was alone.
He was adjusting his cufflinks,
muttering his opening lines under his breath.
He reached the door of the private restroom and went inside.
I waited.
I waited for the sound of the sink running.
I waited for the moment of silence.
Then I walked to the door and pushed it open.
He was standing at the mirror,
straightening his collar.
He saw my reflection first.
At first,
he didn't recognize me.
He just saw a woman in a blue dress and a silver mask.
“I’m sorry,
this is a private—”
he began,
turning around.
I reached up and slowly removed the mask.
The color drained from his face so fast I thought he might faint.
His mouth opened,
but no sound came out.
He gripped the edge of the marble counter until his knuckles turned white.
“Hello,
Michael,”
I said,
my voice a calm,
steady blade.
“The three years are up.”
“Did you miss me?”
He backed away,
his eyes darting to the door.
“Evelyn?”
he whispered,
his voice trembling.
“You…
you’re out?”
“I’m out,”
I said,
taking a step toward him.
“And I’ve seen what you’ve done with the place.”
“The gold dress is a bit much on Rachel,
don't you think?”
“It washes her out.”
“Evelyn,
stay back,”
he stammered.
“I’ll call security.”
“I have a restraining order.”
“The restraining order was for the duration of my sentence,”
I reminded him.
“And I’m not touching you.”
“I’m just here to give you a piece of advice.”
I leaned in,
until I could smell the expensive scotch on his breath.
“Enjoy the award tonight,
Michael.”
“Because it’s the last thing you’re ever going to win.”
I turned and walked out before he could find his voice.
As I stepped back into the ballroom,
the lights dimmed.
The announcer’s voice boomed over the speakers.
“And now,
please welcome the CEO of Lane Group,
Michael Lane!”
I found Julian in the crowd.
He looked at me,
a question in his eyes.
“How did he look?”
Julian asked.
I watched as Michael stumbled onto the stage.
He looked pale.
He looked shaken.
He tripped slightly on the top step.
The crowd chuckled,
thinking it was a charming moment of humility.
But I saw his eyes.
He was scanning the room.
He was looking for the ghost.
“He looked like a man who just realized his house is on fire,”
May you like
I said.
“Let’s go.”
