Chapter 2 - The Deleted Footage
“Security!” Mrs. Sterling shrieked, her voice cracking as she backed away from the table, waving her hands frantically at the corner of the room. “Get these freeloaders out of my sight! They’ve destroyed thousands of dollars in charity property and threatened our guests!”
Two massive private security guards in tight black suits stepped forward from the shadows, their heavy boots clicking against the marble. But before they could reach Evelyn and Lily, a sharp voice echoed from the side entrance of the ballroom.
“Don’t touch them.”
The crowd turned. Standing in the doorway was Arthur Vance, the managing director of the country club board and one of the largest real estate developers in the state. His silver hair was neatly combed, and his dark suit radiated quiet power. Behind him stood the club’s chief IT engineer, holding a heavy laptop open in his hands.
Mrs. Sterling’s face turned the color of ash. “Arthur... thank goodness. This—this trash trampled our display and nearly caused a fatal accident. Have security drag them out!”
Arthur didn’t even look at Mrs. Sterling. He walked past her, his eyes fixed on the knife still vibrating in the wooden table, then down at Lily, who peeked out from behind Evelyn’s shoulder.
“Mr. Vance,” Marcus the waiter stammered, stepping forward. “She made me take the brackets off, sir. She told me if the display looked unstable, it would make the auction pieces look more ‘exclusive’ and dangerous, like a high-end art gallery.”
“That is a complete fabrication!” Mrs. Sterling shrieked, her voice climbing an octave. “Arthur, you’ve known my family for thirty years! You’re not going to listen to a hired busboy over—measured—over proper charity protocol!”
“I’m listening to facts, Beatrice,” Arthur said coldly. He turned to the IT engineer. “Bring up the security feed from the north wall camera.”
The engineer tapped a few keys on the laptop, and a crisp, high-definition video feed projected onto the large projection screen behind the auction stage.
The ballroom gasped.
The video clearly showed Mrs. Sterling standing by the display table earlier that morning, pointing angrily at Marcus as he tried to screw heavy steel safety brackets into the oak base. The audio, crystal clear through the club’s overhead microphones, played across the room:
*“Take those ugly metal brackets off right now, Marcus! Do you want the society page to think we’re running a hardware store? Unscrew them. If it wobbles, that’s not my problem; security will keep people away from the edge anyway.”*
The video continued, showing Mrs. Sterling intentionally placing the heavy, unanchored knife block on the absolute back lip of the table—directly positioned so that anyone leaning against or near the corner would trigger a catastrophic tipping point.
Mrs. Sterling stood frozen in the center of the room, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.
May you like
Arthur turned his gaze back to her, his eyes like chips of blue ice. “Intentionally sabotaging a charity display to collect an insurance payout, Beatrice? And framing a guest for property damage to cover your tracks? Your membership on this board is terminated effective immediately.”
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