Chapter 4 - The Gala on the Penthouse Floor
The express elevator chimed softly as it reached the twelfth floor. The heavy steel doors slid open to reveal a grand, opulent ballroom lit by crystal chandeliers, filled with classical violin music, sparkling champagne flutes, and the soft, pretentious laughter of the city’s high-society elite.
Doctors, politicians, real estate tycoons, and hospital board members strolled across polished white marble floors, dressed in thousand-dollar tuxedos and silk evening gowns.
At the far end of the room, standing near a stage beneath a banner that read Saint Jude’s Annual Pediatric Charity Gala, was Dr. Harold Vance.
He looked every bit the distinguished Chief of Surgery. In his late fifties, with silver-trimmed hair, gold-rimmed spectacles, a million-dollar smile, and a tuxedo that screamed wealth, he was currently holding a glass of vintage champagne, laughing with the city’s Deputy Police Commissioner.
The moment Damian Marchetti walked out of the elevator, the atmosphere in the ballroom began to shift like a slow, toxic leak.
The music didn't stop immediately, but conversations faltered. Several prominent board members paled, whispering nervously behind their gloved hands. The Deputy Commissioner immediately stepped away from Dr. Vance, putting distance between himself and the man everyone knew controlled the city’s underground.
Damian walked forward with slow, deliberate authority. He didn't rush. He didn't draw a weapon. His sheer presence was enough to part the crowd of wealthy guests like the Red Sea.
I walked half a step behind him, wrapped in his heavy trench coat, my eyes locked entirely on Dr. Vance’s face.
As we closed the distance, Dr. Vance turned around, his professional smile firmly in place, though a subtle twitch near his left eye betrayed his sudden anxiety.
“Damian!” Dr. Vance said, extending his hand with practiced politeness. “What a pleasant surprise. I didn't realize the Marchetti family was attending tonight’s gala. We are always honored by your generous donations to the pediatric department.”
Damian didn't take Vance’s outstretched hand. He stood three feet away, his gray eyes locking onto the doctor’s face like two iron sightlines.
“Harold,” Damian said, his voice quiet, calm, and utterly terrifying. “We’re not here to make a donation.”
Dr. Vance lowered his hand slowly, his eyes darting toward the four broad-shouldered bodyguards stationed strategically around the conversation. Then, his gaze fell onto me.
I stepped out from behind Damian, taking off the heavy trench coat, standing beneath the bright crystal light of the chandeliers in my stained diner clothes.
Dr. Vance’s face didn't just turn pale. The blood drained from his features so rapidly he looked like a fresh corpse. His hands began to shake violently, causing the champagne in his crystal glass to ripple violently before he set it down on a nearby server’s tray.
“You...” Vance stammered, his voice dropping into a high, raspy register. “Maya... Maya Lin.”
“You remember my name,” I said, my voice echoing clearly across the quiet ballroom floor. “That’s impressive, Dr. Vance. Considering how many death certificates you sign.”
“Maya, what is the meaning of this?” Vance stammered, looking frantically toward the hospital security guards standing near the perimeter doors. “You shouldn't be here. You’re... you’re supposed to be...”
“Supposed to be where?” Damian interrupted, taking a single step closer to the doctor. “Grieving in a small apartment? Working double shifts at a diner while you drive a Mercedes bought with my late sister’s money?”
A gasp rippled through the surrounding crowd of board members who had gathered to watch the confrontation.
“Damian, please!” Vance whispered desperately, sweating profusely through his stiff collar. “This is a public event! We can discuss whatever misunderstandings you have in my private office downstairs!”
“There are no misunderstandings, Harold,” Damian said flatly. “Fourteen months ago, Maya Lin gave birth to three healthy infants in Operating Room 4. You placed her under heavy anesthesia, told her the babies died of abruption, signed false death certificates, and handed her living triplets to my sister, Julianna, for two million dollars in offshore transfers.”
The entire ballroom erupted into horrified whispers. Several women gasped, covering their mouths. The Deputy Police Commissioner took three steps back, completely turning his back on Vance to save his own career.
“That’s a lie!” Vance shouted, his face turning bright red as panic took complete control. “It’s a lie! Julianna was my patient! She gave birth naturally in this hospital! This woman is unstable! She’s a former patient who suffered a psychotic break after losing her children!”
Vance pointed an accusing, trembling finger at my face.
“She’s crazy!” Vance yelled to the crowd. “She’s stalked me for months! Security! Escort this woman and these men off the premises immediately!”
Four hospital security guards stepped forward, pulling their tasers from their belts.
Before they could take two steps, Damian’s bodyguards moved with terrifying speed.
In less than three seconds, all four hospital guards were disarmed, their tasers wrenched from their hands, and their bodies slammed face-first against the marble floor. The sound of weapons hitting the tile echoed sharply through the silent room.
Screams erupted from the high-society guests as they scrambled toward the exits, pushing past each other to escape the imminent violence. Within less than a minute, the grand ballroom was completely cleared, leaving only Damian, myself, his men, and a terrifyingly isolated Dr. Vance.
Damian walked up to Dr. Vance, reached out, and gently took the doctor by the lapels of his expensive tuxedo. With effortless power, Damian lifted the Chief of Surgery two inches off the floor, pinning him against the heavy glass floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the city three hundred feet below.
May you like
The glass groaned under the pressure.
“You have five seconds, Harold,” Damian whispered, his voice as soft as velvet and twice as sharp. “Tell her where the secondary records are kept, or you’re going to test the structural integrity of this window.”
