Chapter 6 - The Backup Plan
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The ladies’ room was mercifully empty. I locked the heavy wooden door behind me and leaned against the marble sink, staring at my reflection in the mirror.
I barely recognized the woman looking back at me. Mascara streaked darkly down my cheeks like war paint. My hair was plastered to my skull, completely soaked. My beautiful emerald silk dress was clinging to me, utterly ruined by the chlorinated fountain water.
But my eyes... my eyes were remarkably steady. They were cold and clear.
I hadn't dropped my clutch when I fell. It had survived the plunge, tightly gripped in my hand. I unclasped it with damp, shaking fingers and pulled out my phone. Miraculously, the screen lit up.
I quickly typed out one single message.
How close are you?
The answer came through almost immediately.
Ten minutes. Security is already arriving at the perimeter. Are you okay?
Security.
Of course. I let out a small, shaky laugh. He had known. He had always known exactly who my family was, even when I stubbornly tried to defend them. Or maybe, he had simply loved me enough to aggressively prepare for the absolute worst-case scenario.
I quickly typed back: I'm fine. But I'm going to need a change of clothes. Bring the bag.
I didn't wait in the wet dress. One of the many habits I had developed from a life my family had never bothered to understand was absolute preparedness. My job required me to be ready for anything, at any time.
Ten minutes later, there was a sharp, distinct knock on the restroom door. Two taps, a pause, one tap. The code.
I unlocked the door. A woman in a sharp, dark suit stood there, holding a sleek black garment bag. She handed it to me silently, gave a curt nod, and stepped back into the hallway to stand guard.
I took the bag into a stall and quickly stripped off the ruined silk. Inside the bag was a perfectly tailored, sharp black dress—my emergency outfit. Elegant, understated, and incredibly powerful. I dried my hair as best I could with paper towels, pulling it back into a severe, sleek bun. I wiped away the ruined makeup, leaving my face clean and austere.
When I finally looked in the mirror again, the awkward, eager-to-please daughter was completely gone.
I was Meredith, and I was ready for war.
I walked out of the restroom and headed back toward the ballroom. I was dry, perfectly calm, and completely composed. The music had started playing again, a desperate attempt by the band to restore a celebratory mood after the disastrous scene.
As I approached the open doors, I heard my mother holding court near the entrance.
"We’ve honestly tried absolutely everything with Meredith over the years," my mother was loudly telling a group of wealthy, sympathetic women. "But you know how it is. Some people simply refuse to thrive. They prefer to play the victim."
I stepped fully into the light of the doorway.
"Then it's a good thing I learned how to thrive on my own, Mother," I said smoothly.
Her head snapped toward me. The polite, long-suffering smile on her face tightened into a rigid grimace of shock.
"Meredith," she said, her eyes scanning my pristine black dress. "You look... dry."
May you like
"Yes," I replied, holding her gaze. "I always keep a backup plan."
Before she could form a venomous reply, the atmosphere in the grand ballroom shifted dramatically.
