Chapter 2 - The velvet cage
The bright ballroom lights felt suddenly blinding to Vivienne. She scrambled backward on the polished floor, the delicate fabric of her crimson gown tearing on a piece of shattered ceramic. She stared at the photograph resting on the marble floor. It was a picture of a little boy with bright blue eyes, holding a unique silver locket. It was the same locket she currently wore hidden beneath her dress.
"Security!" Vivienne screamed, her American accent sharp and desperate. "Arrest this man! Throw him out!"
Not a single guard moved. The wealthy guests who had been laughing just moments before were now backing away in pure terror. They recognized the shift in power. The men in dark suits stationed at the doors crossed their arms, their fair faces devoid of sympathy.
"They don't work for you, Vivienne," Sylvester said, his voice a low, steady rumble that echoed in the quiet room. "They never did. This hotel, this gala, the very floor you are sitting on. I bought it all a decade ago through a shell corporation. You've been playing queen inside my castle."
Vivienne struggled to her feet, her breathing erratic. "My grandmother has been dead for five years. Whatever twisted game you're playing, it won't work. My husband is the district attorney. He will have you locked away for the rest of your life."
Sylvester let out a brief, humorless exhale. He motioned to the hotel manager, who immediately handed him a sleek silver phone. Sylvester tapped the screen and held it out.
"Call him," Sylvester challenged.
Vivienne snatched the phone, her hands shaking so violently she could barely dial the private number. It rang twice before a familiar voice answered.
"Arthur? Arthur, thank God, you need to send the police to the hotel right now," Vivienne pleaded.
"I can't do that, Vivienne," her husband’s voice replied, sounding hollow and defeated. "I'm sorry. I really am."
"What are you talking about? He assaulted me!"
"Look out the window, Viv," Arthur said quietly. "Look at the street."
Vivienne rushed to the massive glass windows overlooking the bright city avenue. Down below, lined up across the entire block, were twenty black SUVs. Standing casually by the lead car was Arthur, holding his phone, surrounded by men wearing simple dark suits just like Sylvester’s. He wasn't a captive. He was taking orders.
"Arthur, what have you done?" Vivienne whispered, the realization crushing her lungs.
"I made a deal with the man who actually runs this city," Arthur replied, and the line went dead.
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Vivienne slowly turned around to face Sylvester, her glamorous world crumbling into dust. But Sylvester wasn't looking at her with triumph. He was looking at the folder on the ground.
"Your grandmother isn't dead, Vivienne," Sylvester said, stepping closer. "And she didn't just send me that photo. She sent me coordinates."
