Chapter 7: The Gala Invitation
Two weeks turned into two months, and the compound gradually stopped feeling like a temporary shelter and began to feel like home. The rough-around-the-edges bikers had quietly integrated me into their daily routines; one taught me how to change a tire on a vintage bicycle in the courtyard, while another helped me with my algebra homework in the evenings. Yet, Jax remained focused on the deeper game. Every few days, he would disappear for hours into town, returning with more records, bank routing numbers, and society columns clipped from the local newspapers.
The turning point arrived on a crisp Tuesday morning in late October. A thick, cream-colored envelope bearing gold foil lettering had arrived in the compound's mail drop, addressed not to me, but to a foundation that Jax operated under an alias to buy up distressed industrial properties. Jax dropped the envelope onto the kitchen table while Martha and I were chopping vegetables for soup. I watched as he used a pocketknife to slice open the heavy paper, pulling out a glossy invitation adorned with an embossed crest that made my stomach drop instantly.
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It was an exclusive charity gala invitation for the upcoming Founders' Ball at the Grand Metropolitan Hotel downtown—the very pinnacle of the city's high-society calendar. Printed boldly across the top sponsor list was a familiar name: The Evelyn Vance Heritage Foundation. Below it, a glossy photograph featured Evelyn herself in a stunning designer gown, smiling radiantly beside a prominent city councilman while accepting an award for her tireless philanthropic work and dedication to youth welfare. The contrast between the radiant, glittering woman smiling from the glossy card and the cold, cruel voice telling me to get out into the freezing rain was so violent it made my hands shake.
Jax walked over, placing a heavy, warm hand on my shoulder as he looked down at the photograph. "She's using your father's stolen money to buy herself a seat at the very top of this city," Jax said quietly, his voice low and deliberate. "And she's holding a major press conference at the end of the night to announce a massive expansion of her foundation." He paused, looking down into my eyes with a calm, unwavering intensity. "She thinks she buried you in the dark, Maya. But how do you feel about getting dressed up and going to a party?" I stared at the glossy image of my stepmother's public triumph, feeling the battered weight of Galrriets resting safely in my jacket pocket, and gave him a slow, determined nod.
