Chapter 2 - The Ghost at the Gala
The Apex Group annual gala was a spectacle of excess,
filled with men in tailored suits and women dripping in diamonds they didn't earn.
Spencer was in the center of the room,
his arm wrapped around Paisley’s waist,
laughing at a joke made by the Mayor.
He looked triumphant,
the king of his own small hill,
entirely unaware that the mountain was about to collapse on top of him.
The heavy oak doors of the ballroom swung open with a force that demanded attention,
and the music seemed to falter as the crowd turned to see who had arrived.
I walked in first,
my father half a step behind me,
our presence creating a vacuum of silence that moved through the room.
The silver of my dress caught the light of the chandeliers,
making me shimmer like a celestial being among mortals.
I saw Spencer's glass pause halfway to his lips,
his eyes widening in a slow-motion realization of horror and confusion.
He didn't recognize me at first,
his brain refusing to bridge the gap between his "clumsy" wife and the goddess before him.
But then his gaze landed on my face,
and the color drained from his skin until he was as pale as the champagne Paisley was holding.
"Phoebe?"
he stammered,
the name sounding like a curse in the sudden quiet of the ballroom.
Paisley’s grip on his arm tightened,
her eyes darting between my dress and the emeralds that cost more than her life.
"That's not possible,"
she hissed,
her voice trembling with a sudden,
unexplained fear.
I didn't stop until I was standing directly in front of them,
the scent of Spencer's expensive cologne now smelling like rot to me.
"You said I would embarrass you,
Spencer,"
I said,
my voice carrying clearly to every corner of the room.
"But it seems to me that you're the one who looks a bit out of place tonight."
My father stepped forward then,
his shadow falling over Spencer like a shroud.
"Spencer Conway,"
Raymond Harrell said,
his voice dripping with a casual,
deadly contempt.
"I believe you've met my daughter,
the majority shareholder of the bank that holds all your company’s debt."
The sound of a hundred gasps filled the air,
followed by a silence so heavy it felt like it would break the floor.
Spencer looked at my father,
then back at me,
his mouth opening and closing as he tried to find words that no longer existed.
He had spent three years treating me like a beggar,
never realizing I was the one who owned the bowl he was eating from.
"I think it's time we talked about your business,
Spencer,"
I said,
tilting my head with a cold,
predatory smile.
"Or rather,
what's left of it after I'm finished with you."
I turned my back on him then,
May you like
leaving him standing in the middle of his own gala,
suddenly the smallest man in the room.
