Chapter 7 - The Gathering at the Country Club
By Friday evening, the annual Buckeye Heritage Charity Gala was underway in the grand ballroom of the Columbus Athletic Club.
It was the premier social and financial event of the winter season, presided over by the oldest real estate dynasties, banking syndicates, and corporate trusts in central Ohio.
Richard Caldwell stood near the towering limestone fireplace at the east end of the ballroom, holding a glass of single-malt scotch that he hadn't tasted in an hour. He wore his bespoke tuxedo, his silver hair neatly styled, but beneath his manicured exterior, his shoulders remained slumped in that familiar, defensive posture of a man who knew he was standing on rotting timbers.
Beside him stood Denise, resplendent in an emerald-green silk gown with an emerald-and-diamond collar, holding court with three prominent society matrons, her laughter slightly too high-pitched, slightly too brittle.
To her left stood Travis, his right wrist wrapped tightly in a flesh-colored compression bandage concealed beneath his French cuffs, nursing a bourbon, his eyes darting anxiously toward the entrance foyer every thirty seconds.
"Richard, darling, stop looking like an undertaker," Denise murmured under her breath, turning her back on the matrons to hiss into her husband’s ear. "Travis spoke to Councilman Miller this afternoon. The building inspection team is visiting that Fourth Street workshop on Monday morning. They’ll find enough code violations in that firetrap to shut the doors by noon. Emma will be back on Bryden Road before the weekend is over."
"She looked at me like I was a stranger, Denise," Richard whispered, his voice cracking into that dry, hollow register that had haunted him for a week. "In our own dining room. When she asked me if I knew about the envelope... I couldn't look her in the eyes."
"Because you have a weak stomach, Richard!" Denise snapped, her manicured fingers digging into his forearm. "You gave that girl a home for three years when she contributed nothing! If we don't present a united front tonight, the Vance Foundation will pull their corporate grant from your development trust, and we’ll be liquidating the carriage house by spring!"
The heavy double doors of the grand ballroom swung inward with a slow, concussive thud that cut off the ambient chatter near the entrance.
May you like
A collective, cascading hush rippled across the four hundred guests in the room, starting at the reception foyer and rolling across the parquet floorboards until the jazz trio on the balcony faltered mid-measure.
Walking through the arched entrance, escorted by the executive director of the Columbus Museum of Art and two senior partners from the city’s oldest chancery firm, was Emma Caldwell.
