Chapter 10: The Gala Confrontation
The flash of the security guard's heavy-duty flashlight sliced through the gloom of the utility corridor just as Brutus and I slipped behind a bank of industrial supply crates. I held my breath, pressing my back flat against the cold concrete wall, my hand resting firmly on the heavy leather collar around the dog's neck to keep him from tensing.
"Thought I heard something," the guard muttered, his boots crunching on the gravel dust near the doorway. He swept the beam of light across the empty cages, pausing for a long, agonizing second right over the spot where we stood.
Brutus didn't growl. He didn't even shift his weight. He simply closed his eyes, his breathing slowing until it matched the rhythmic hum of the ventilation unit above us.
After what felt like a lifetime, the guard grunted, turned on his heel, and walked back down the hall toward the main entrance, his footsteps fading into the distance.
We didn't wait. I grabbed the disposable camera, tucked it securely inside my coat alongside the stolen notes, and retraced our steps through the maintenance gate, slipping back out into the sheltering embrace of the autumn woods. By the time we reached the highway where Officer Miller's patrol car was waiting, my heart was hammering against my ribs, but the weight in my coat felt like pure iron.
"You got it?" Miller asked quietly as I climbed into the passenger seat, Brutus curling his massive frame onto the floorboards in the back.
I pulled the plastic camera from my pocket and laid it on the center console between us. "Every chart. Every signature. It’s all on there."
Miller looked down at the small plastic device, then up through the windshield toward the distant lights of the Sterling Estate twinkling against the dark hills. "Good. Because you're going to need every bit of it tonight."
"Tonight?" I asked, frowning.
"The annual City Charity Gala at the Grand Ballroom downtown," Miller said, shifting the car into gear. "Sterling is scheduled to receive the Philanthropist of the Year award at eight o'clock. The whole city council, the press, and half the state legislature will be in that room. If you want to end this before his lawyers bury the investigation in procedural delays, that's where you have to do it."
Two hours later, the towering glass facade of the Grand Ballroom was bathed in the blinding glare of television camera lights and camera flashes. Limousines lined the curb three deep, disgorging men in tailored tuxedos and women in glittering evening gowns who swept up the crimson-carpeted steps beneath crystal chandeliers.
I stood across the street in the shadow of a stone arcade, wearing my worn brown coat over a simple black dress, the black violin case clutched tightly in my hands. Beside me, Brutus stood calm and motionless, his dark coat brushed and clean, looking less like a stray and more like a silent guardian standing watch at the gates of history.
"Are you ready?" Miller asked, stepping out from the crowd in plainclothes, giving me a final nod of quiet solidarity.
"I've been ready since the day I found him," I whispered.
I walked across the avenue, ignoring the startled shouts of the doormen as I approached the revolving glass doors. Security guards moved to intercept me, their hands reaching out to block my path, but before they could touch my arm, the heavy glass doors swung open from the inside, and Julian Sterling himself stepped out onto the landing, smiling for the cameras as flashbulbs popped around him like miniature lightning storms.
He stopped dead in his tracks as his gaze fell upon me standing at the foot of the grand staircase—and beside me, the unmistakable silhouette of Brutus.
The color vanished from Sterling's face, his public smile freezing into a mask of pure terror.
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"Stop her!" Sterling shouted, pointing a shaking finger in my direction as he backed toward the safety of the lobby. "Get that—get that animal out of here!"
I didn't wait for his security detail to reach me. I set my violin case down on the crimson carpet, unlatched the brass clasps with a sharp, echoing click, and lifted the wooden instrument into the crisp night air. The crystal chandeliers overhead caught the old varnish, casting a warm, brilliant amber glow across the steps as the murmurs of the elite crowd died away into absolute silence.
