Chapter 11 - The Red Carpet Ambush
Dave Vance arrived in the subterranean corridor with two men in dark suits flanking him. His sharp eyes immediately darted from Brittany, who was curled on the floor weeping into her trembling hands, to the wooden crate filled with chocolate truffles dusted in crushed peanut meal.
"Explain this to me, Jessica," Dave said, his baritone voice echoing off the cinderblock walls. He wasn't yelling, but the quiet authority in his cadence made the hairs on my arms stand up. "Marcus told me there was a breach."
"It's not just a breach, Dave," I said, handing him the plastic badge Marcus had confiscated. "It's attempted corporate sabotage and aggravated assault. Brittany entered using a VIP sponsor badge reserved under Donor 04. She was replacing our custom allergen-free dessert spread with cross-contaminated sweets labeled with counterfeit allergy-safe stickers."
Dave turned the laminated card over. His gaze hardened as he read the name printed on the internal security register. "Sherry Brooks. She insisted on a sponsor package last week through the hospital auxiliary board. She made a show of saying she wanted to 'support her daughter-in-law's grand debut.'" He let out a harsh, dry laugh. "She sat in my office drinking chamomile tea and talking about family unity."
"She didn't come to support me," I replied, my voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through my veins. "She came to destroy me. If one child, one guest, had gone into anaphylactic shock tonight, Vance Culinary's liability insurance would have been revoked, my business license canceled, and our foundation partnership dead on arrival. And Brittany was promised whatever was left of the family trust to execute it."
Brittany lifted her tear-streaked face, mascara running down her splotchy cheeks. "I didn't want anyone to die! Mom said—Mom told me they'd just get hives! She said people would get sick, the news would report food poisoning, and the board would fire Jessica! That was all! I swear, that was all!"
"You put peanut powder into a batch meant for children with known severe allergies, Brittany," Marcus said coldly, stepping between her and the exit. "In the eyes of the law, that’s criminal negligence with intent to cause grievous bodily harm. Detective Miller from Oakridge PD is already waiting by the service loading dock."
Two uniformed officers entered the hall, followed by Detective Miller, a seasoned investigator Michael and I had spoken to weeks ago during the initial audit of the trust. Miller took one look at the open crate, snapped on a pair of purple nitrile gloves, and signaled his partner.
"Brittany Brooks, stand up," Miller ordered. "Keep your hands where we can see them."
Brittany shrieked as the handcuffs clicked around her wrists. "Call my mother! You can't arrest me, call Sherry! She bought the tickets! She told me which door to use!"
"Your mother will have her own questions to answer in about five minutes," I said, leaning down slightly so Brittany had to meet my eyes. "Did you really think she was going to protect you, Brittany? The moment police flashers illuminate the front drive, Sherry will claim she lost her badge. She will sacrifice you to save her social standing, just like she tried to sacrifice Lily’s health at that birthday party."
Brittany’s breath hitched. A look of sickening comprehension washed over her features. She looked toward the ceiling, realizing the trap she had walked into had been engineered by the very woman who gave her life.
"Take her out through the maintenance exit," Dave Vance instructed the officers. "Keep it quiet until the front doors are secured. I will not have my guests panicked before they even set foot in the ballroom."
Miller nodded. "We’ll hold her in the transport van out back until we retrieve Mrs. Brooks Senior. Jessica, are you ready for this?"
I adjusted the lapels of my tailored chef’s coat, smoothed down my apron, and looked at Dave. "The kitchen is fully prepped. My sous-chefs have double-checked every single course. Lily is upstairs in the VIP lounge with Michael, eating dinner made by my own hands under private guard. I’ve spent two months defending my child and my integrity from these people."
"Then let's go greet our patrons," Dave said, a grim smile touching his lips. "And let's make sure Sherry Brooks gets the VIP treatment she paid for."
We took the private service elevator up to the mezzanine overlooking the Grand Atrium. Below us, the gala was already in full swing. Crystal chandeliers cast warm, glittering light over hundreds of Oakridge’s most influential figures: city council members, hospital trustees, wealthy benefactors, and philanthropists.
And standing right in the center of the marble rotunda, holding a fluted glass of vintage champagne and holding court with the mayor’s wife, was Sherry Brooks.
She wore emerald silk, dripping in vintage emeralds that had belonged to Michael's grandmother—heirlooms she had refused to surrender during the probate settlement. She was laughing, her head thrown back, basking in the illusion of wealth and untouchable prestige.
Beside me, Michael stepped out of the private lounge doorway. He had watched the security monitor feed from upstairs; his face was pale, his jaw set like iron. He looked at me, then took my hand, his grip warm and resolute.
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"She gave Brittany the badge," Michael whispered, his voice trembling with a mixture of heartbreak and pure disgust. "My own mother tried to poison an entire room of people just to settle a petty grudge."
"She's about to discover," I told him gently, "that the world doesn't belong to Sherry Brooks anymore."