Chapter 6 - A Cruel Trap
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By Tuesday evening, two days before the gala, the tension inside the Meridian had reached a boiling point.
Dela was working the late dinner service in the VIP dining room. The room was sparsely populated, save for table four, where Margot Sinclair sat with two of her high-society friends and Arthur Vance—Victor Sinclair’s chief legal counsel.
Dela approached the table holding a heavy silver tray laden with four glasses of vintage Pinot Noir.
“Good evening,” Dela said politely, setting the tray down on the side station.
Margot didn't look up from her phone. “Set the wine down carefully, waitress. That bottle costs more than your monthly rent.”
Dela picked up the first glass, placing it smoothly in front of Arthur Vance. She glanced subtly at the leather briefcase resting beside the lawyer's chair—the briefcase Gus had warned her about.
As Dela reached to place the second glass in front of Margot, Margot deliberately extended her elbow, catching the base of the crystal stem.
The heavy glass tilted. Dark red wine spilled across the crisp white tablecloth, splashing directly onto Margot’s silk designer gown.
Margot gasped loudly, jumping up from her chair. “You clumsy idiot!”
The entire dining room fell silent. Patrons turned to stare.
Dela stood perfectly still, her tray held firmly at her side, her face expressionless. “My apologies, Miss Sinclair. Allow me to get a clean cloth.”
“A cloth?!” Margot shrieked, her voice echoing off the tall ceilings. “You just ruined a four-thousand-dollar custom gown! Look at you—you can’t even hold a tray properly! Why is management letting a pregnant, incompetent girl work in a high-class establishment?!”
The floor manager came rushing over, pale and trembling. “Miss Sinclair! I am so sorry! We will cover the dry cleaning immediately—”
“I don't want dry cleaning!” Margot barked, glaring at Dela with pure venom. “I want this girl fired right now!”
Dela looked directly at Margot. Her voice, when she spoke, was quiet, smooth, and utterly devoid of fear.
“If you review the security camera positioned directly behind your chair, Miss Sinclair,” Dela stated calmly, “you will see that your elbow extended four inches past your seat frame after the glass was already descending. It was an intentional movement.”
Margot’s mouth dropped open. “What did you say to me?!”
“I said,” Dela repeated, stepping closer, her gaze sharp as a razor, “that if you wish to file a claim for damages, we can review the surveillance footage with the tower’s legal department immediately. I’m sure Mr. Vandermir would be fascinated to see it.”
Arthur Vance, the lawyer, cleared his throat uncomfortably, shifting in his seat. He looked at Dela with sudden suspicion, recognizing the crisp, authoritative precision in her speech.
Margot’s face flushed with deep rage. She took a step toward Dela, raising her hand as if to slap her.
“That’s enough, Margot.”
A deep, commanding voice echoed from the archway.
Augustine Vandermir stepped into the room, flanked by his head of security. His posture was rigid, his expression cold as ice.
Margot turned, putting on a helpless expression. “Gus! Look what this horrible girl did to my dress! She insulted me in front of everyone!”
Gus didn't look at the dress. He looked at Dela, who stood her ground, her posture immaculate despite the silver tape visible on her worn shoe.
“Return to your table, Margot,” Gus said quietly.
“Gus! She spilled wine on me!”
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“I said return to your table,” Gus repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument. He turned his eyes to the floor manager. “Clean this table. And ensure Mrs. Hawthorne is assigned to my private table for the rest of the evening.”
Margot stared at her fiancé in absolute disbelief, her hands trembling with indignation as Gus walked past her without another word.
