Chapter 13 - The Hidden Ledger
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Inside the Grand Ballroom, five hundred of Chicago’s most influential citizens sat at round, candlelit tables covered in white linen.
Senators, judges, police commanders, and high-society donors were all staring up at the main stage, where a twenty-foot projection screen displayed a gigantic, black-and-white photograph of me from three years ago.
Charlotte stood at the center podium, bathed in a soft golden spotlight.
"We have established a memorial trust," Charlotte announced, holding up a small glass award. "A trust that will ensure no other family suffers the horrific loss my family has endured over these dark days..."
High above the crowd, on the VIP balcony overlooking the main floor, the heavy brass handles of the double doors turned.
The doors swung open.
Marco Duca stepped out first.
His appearance alone was enough to send a ripple through the upper balconies. In Chicago, Marco Duca didn't attend charity galas. He didn't smile for society photographers. His presence in any room meant business, power, and severe danger.
Two security guards near the balcony steps immediately reached for their jackets, but stopped dead when they saw who was walking beside him.
I stepped out onto the marble balcony, taking my place at the iron railing right beside Marco.
The golden light from the chandeliers below struck my dark dress, my slicked-back hair, and my unblinking eyes.
A woman in the third row of the balcony gasped softly. "Is that...?"
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A man beside her dropped his dessert fork onto his china plate with a sharp clink.
The murmur began small—a quiet, confused wave that started on the upper level and spilled down toward the main floor like water breaking through a dam.
