Chapter 7 - The Grand Gala
The annual Harrington Foundation Charity Gala was held at the Grand Ballroom of the Plaza Hotel in New York City.
It was the premier event of the winter season—a glittering gathering of diplomats, corporate titans, and old-money families.
Tabitha, watching from her small rented apartment in Queens, believed she had ruined us. She believed the rumors she had whispered to tabloid reporters would leave Oakridge isolated and disgraced.
She couldn't have been more wrong.
That evening, the grand entrance was flanked by dozens of photographers.
Robin arrived first, looking striking in a bespoke black tuxedo. Beside him walked Clara Montgomery—a brilliant, warm-hearted pediatric surgeon and the daughter of one of Arthur’s oldest friends, who had been a dear family friend since childhood.
Clara wasn't wearing expensive designer gowns meant to draw attention; she wore an elegant navy silk dress and smiled with genuine warmth at the press.
Then, I stepped out of the limousine.
I wore an emerald green velvet gown, my silver hair styled immaculately, and around my neck sat the family’s signature diamond necklace—the very piece Tabitha had tried to claim was stolen.
The flashing cameras were deafening.
Inside the ballroom, three hundred guests applauded as Robin and I took our places at the head table.
"You look beautiful, Mom," Robin whispered, pouring water into my glass.
"And you look like a man who has finally reclaimed his life, Robin," I replied, smiling gently at Clara, who was laughing with Lord Sterling nearby.
Halfway through the dinner, Marcus Vance walked over to my table, leaning down to speak in my ear.
"She's here, Eleanor," Marcus whispered.
I raised an eyebrow. "Tabitha?"
"She managed to obtain a press pass using a fake credential from a regional fashion blog," Marcus explained. "She’s standing near the balcony service entrance, watching the head table."
I took a slow sip of my wine. "Did she bring a camera?"
"She brought her phone," Marcus said with a dry chuckle. "I believe she was hoping to crash the stage during your speech and create a scene for live streaming."
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I looked toward the dark velvet curtains near the balcony entrance. In the shadows, I caught the glint of a sequins dress and a familiar, desperate pair of eyes staring at me.
"Let her watch, Marcus," I said calmly. "In fact, make sure she has a front-row view of the speech."
