Chapter 6 - The Grand Meridian GalaThe Grand Meridian Hotel glittered under thousands of crystal chandeliers. Violin music drifted through the grand ballroom as wealthy patrons in designer gowns and bespoke tuxedos mingled, sipping champagne and exchanging hollow pleasantries.
Viktor Vance stood near the center of the room, holding a crystal flute of vintage Dom Pérignon. He was a large man with salt-and-pepper hair, a scarred jawline, and cold, calculating blue eyes that missed nothing.
“Viktor,” a smooth voice purred beside him. “A magnificent turnout. Your charity foundation does wonders for your public image.”
Vance turned to see Alessandro Duca standing beside him.
Alessandro was dressed in a razor-sharp charcoal tuxedo, looking every bit the ruthless apex predator of the Chicago underworld. He wasn't smiling. His eyes were dead, flat, and fixed entirely on Vance.
Vance’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second before he recovered, clinking his glass against Alessandro’s empty one.
“Alessandro! My friend. I didn't expect to see you out in public so soon after your tragic loss,” Vance said smoothly, though a bead of sweat formed near his temple. “How is little Lily holding up?”
“She’s doing remarkably well, Viktor,” Alessandro replied, his voice chillingly polite. “In fact, she recently found a very interesting lost item around the house. A voice recording. Left behind by my late wife before she... slipped.”
Vance’s grip on his champagne glass tightened so hard the crystal stem threatened to snap. “Is that so? People lose things all the time in large estates.”
“True,” Alessandro leaned in close, his lips brushing Vance’s ear. “Some people lose their minds. Others lose their lives. And occasionally, snitches lose their heads.”
Before Vance could signal his bodyguards stationed along the perimeter, the ballroom’s main sound system suddenly cut out with a sharp screech of feedback.
The live violin music stopped instantly.
Every head in the ballroom turned toward the massive projection screen mounted above the stage.
The screen flickered to life.
Instead of the charity logo, high-definition security footage from the Duca estate basement began playing on a loop. The audio boomed through the high-end speakers, crystal clear for all five hundred guests to hear.
“She was weak!” Vivien Romano’s recorded voice shrieked across the ballroom. “Isabella was weak! She wanted to pack up Lily and run away... I gave her a little push!”
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Then, a second audio file began to play—a recorded phone intercept between Vivien Romano and Viktor Vance himself, discussing the precise wire transfer amounts for the assassination.
“Just make sure it looks like an accident, Vivien,” Vance’s unmistakable voice echoed through the terrified ballroom. “If Duca finds out, we both hang.”
