Chapter 4 - THE ROYAL AMBUSHThe Grand Ballroom of the Bellevue Hotel was bathed in golden light. Crystal chandeliers hung from the high ceilings, reflecting off the champagne glasses held by the city's elite—judges, politicians, wealthy donors, and prominent clergy members.
At the center table sat Jocelyn, dressed in a sweeping emerald gown, smiling radiant, false smiles as high-society women showered her with compliments. Beside her, Gregory stood in a designer tuxedo, shaking hands with local councilmen, puffing his chest out like a triumphant king.
“We are so blessed to have people of such high moral character in our community,” an elderly woman babbled to Jocelyn. “How is dear Clara doing? We heard she was under the weather.”
Jocelyn dabbed her eyes with a silk handkerchief, putting on a masterclass performance of grief and piety. “Oh, sweetie... it’s so heartbreaking. The cancer... it’s affected her mind. She’s become quite volatile and violent. We’ve had to hire round-the-clock spiritual counseling for her. Gregory is practically a saint for bearing this heavy cross with such grace.”
“Oh, poor Gregory,” the woman gasped. “What a godly husband.”
From the shadows of the VIP balcony above, I looked down at them. My stomach churned with disgust. How many times had I sat at those tables, smiling politely while they quietly dismantled my self-esteem and stole my life away?
Ethan stood beside me, wearing a high-end tuxedo that made him blend seamlessly into the billionaire crowd. He checked his watch.
“Two minutes until Gregory takes the stage,” Ethan whispered. “The federal marshals and local homicide detectives are already stationed at every exit. They’re letting him walk up to the microphone first.”
Down below, the chime of a crystal glass echoed through the ballroom. The mayor himself stepped up to the podium.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the mayor announced, his voice booming through the speakers. “Tonight, we honor a man who exemplifies civic duty, faith, and devotion to family. Please welcome our nominee for City Council, and the recipient of the Community Pillar Award—Gregory Vance!”
The crowd erupted into thunderous applause. Gregory smoothed his jacket, flashed a million-dollar political smile, and strutted up the stairs onto the stage. He took his place behind the podium, gripping the edges confidently.
“Thank you, Mayor. Thank you, friends,” Gregory began, his voice dripping with practiced charm. “True leadership isn't about power. It’s about service. It’s about caring for the weakest among us, even when the burden becomes almost too heavy to bear—”
Suddenly, the massive 30-foot LED screen behind Gregory flickered violently.
The bright promotional logo of the charity vanished, replaced by stark black background.
The heavy, joyous music cutting through the speakers cut out, replaced by a harsh, static buzz.
Gregory paused, frowning, and glanced over his shoulder. “Uh, technical glitch, folks. We’ll have that sorted in a second—”
Then, a voice echoed through the high-grade sound system of the ballroom, crystal clear, amplified to maximum volume.
“God doesn’t tolerate drug addicts under a Christian roof.”
The entire ballroom fell into a dead, suffocating silence.
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Jocelyn froze at her table, her champagne glass stopping inches from her lips. Her face flushed pale white.
On the massive 30-foot screen, high-definition video began to play.
