Chapter 8 - The Gala
Sunday night arrived with the heavy, electric stillness that always precedes a coastal storm.
The Aldren’s rooftop terrace had been transformed into an emerald-and-gold pavilion. Two hundred of Savannah’s elite—judges, city council members, commercial developers, and regional executives—moved beneath the heated pergolas, crystal champagne flutes catching the glow of Edison bulbs strung between the historic brick chimneys.
This was the Hollis Group’s annual autumn gala.
Evelyn Hollis stood near the marble bar, surrounded by a ring of regional directors. She wore a deep emerald velvet gown, holding court with the quiet authority of an empress.
At precisely eight-thirty, the elevator doors at the end of the rooftop gallery chimed.
Richard Lawson stepped out.
He had somehow managed to rent a tuxedo on four hours’ notice, though the sleeves were half an inch too short and the collar pinched his throat until his jowls spilled over the fabric. Behind him walked Derek.
Derek looked like a corpse that had been dug up and forced into black tie. He didn't look at the crowd. He kept his head down, his fingers constantly adjusting his studs, his face pale as lard.
They hadn't been invited back. Their names had been purged from the guest list at noon.
Marcus stepped out from the terrace entrance to block their path, but Evelyn Hollis caught his eye and gave a nearly imperceptible nod.
*Let them in.*
I stood beside the brass railing overlooking the Savannah River, holding a glass of sparkling water. The river flowed black and thick beneath the city lights, carrying cargo ships toward the Atlantic.
Richard spotted Evelyn across the terrace. He grabbed Derek by the elbow—his grip so tight Derek visibly winced—and dragged his son through the crowd like a prize bull being led to an auction ring.
Guests stepped aside, murmuring among themselves. The tension in the air was so thick that the string quartet near the fountain faltered, their bows dragging across the strings before drifting into silence.
“Evelyn,” Richard announced, his voice booming across the terrace, attempting to force the entire room into an audience. “Pardon the intrusion, but we needed to speak before the board meeting tomorrow morning.”
Evelyn turned slowly. She took a sip of her dry martini, set the glass on a passing server’s tray, and looked at Richard as if he were an uninvited insect that had landed on her silk collar.
“Mr. Lawson,” Evelyn said, her voice carrying effortlessly across the silent terrace. “I’m surprised to see you here. I believed the security team had already revoked your son’s access badge this morning.”
The crowd shifted. Whispers broke out among the junior partners standing near the bar.
Richard’s face tightened, but he forced a hearty, booming laugh that sounded completely hollow.
“A minor administrative misunderstanding, Evelyn! A clerical error regarding the escrow reconciliations. Derek has the documentation right here. And more importantly, the Lawson family has arranged to bridge the development financing personally. We have the sixty thousand dollars.”
Derek looked as if he were going to vomit. “Dad… please…”
Richard ignored him. He reached into his tuxedo breast pocket and pulled out a cashier’s check.
I recognized the paper. It was drawn on Richard’s personal home equity line of credit—the absolute last reserve of capital he possessed in the world, the equity in the family home he had owned for thirty years.
He had mortgaged his own roof to the bank on an emergency Sunday loan to save Derek’s partner track.
“Sixty thousand dollars, full cash settlement,” Richard said triumphantly, thrusting the check toward Evelyn. “The escrow variance is closed. Derek’s promotion can proceed as planned on the agenda.”
Evelyn didn't take the check. She didn't even look at it.
She looked past Richard, past Derek, straight toward the service door behind the bar.
“Bring them out,” Evelyn said quietly.
The service door swung open.
Cassandra stepped out onto the terrace. She was accompanied by two men in dark gray suits with gold shields pinned to their lapels: Special Investigators from the Georgia State Attorney General’s Commercial Fraud Division.
Richard’s smile froze. The check remained extended in his hand, hovering in the empty air like a severed branch.
“What is this?” Richard stammered, looking around the room, his eyes darting frantically between the guests, the investigators, and Evelyn. “Evelyn, what is this nonsense?”
“The variance was not sixty thousand dollars, Richard,” Evelyn said, her voice dropping into a tone of absolute, crushing finality. “It was two hundred and forty thousand dollars. And your daughter-in-law spent the afternoon giving a voluntary proffer to the Attorney General’s office, detailing eighteen months of systematic embezzlement conducted by your son.”
The rooftop erupted into stunned whispers.
A councilman near the railing backed away. A senior partner who had mentored Derek turned his back completely, looking down at his shoes in silent disgust.
Richard turned on Cassandra, his face contorting into an expression of murderous rage. “You treacherous little—”
“Mr. Lawson,” one of the investigators intervened, stepping smoothly between Richard and Cassandra, his hand resting casually near his service weapon. “Step back. Right now.”
Derek collapsed.
His knees simply folded beneath him, and he hit the flagstones of the rooftop with a dull, heavy thump, sitting there in his rented tuxedo with his hands clasped over his face, sobbing like a terrified seven-year-old boy.
“Dad…” Derek wept into his palms. “Dad, help me… please, Dad…”
Richard stood over his son. The cashier’s check slipped from his fingers, fluttering down through the cool night air until it landed face-down in a puddle of spilled champagne.
He looked around the terrace.
He looked for his golf buddies. He looked for the councilmen he had bought drinks for. He looked for the high-society matriarchs he had spent twenty years trying to impress.
Every single person looked away.
Finally, Richard’s wild, desperate gaze found me.
I stood by the railing, ten feet away, motionless in the warm amber light of my hotel.
“Maya,” he croaked. The voice was stripped of all its gravel, all its false majesty, all its threats. It was the voice of a broken, bankrupt old man whose entire life had just collapsed into a pile of ashes at his feet. “Maya… talk to them. You know Julian Vance. You have influence here. Tell them it’s a family matter. Tell them we can handle it inside the family.”
I looked at the man who had ignored me for seven years.
I looked at the father who had threatened to destroy my life forty-eight hours ago for the price of Derek’s vanity.
“I have no family on this terrace, Richard,” I said.
May you like
The investigators stepped forward, pulled Derek up by his elbows, and clicked the steel handcuffs around his wrists behind his back.
***
