Chapter 11 - The Gala Showdown
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The trap was set for Friday night, at the Mayor’s Winter Charity Ball.
It was the perfect venue. Loud, crowded, and heavily populated by Boston’s elite, including Julian Thorne.
I arrived wearing a striking red dress—a deliberate homage to the dress Sloane had worn on Christmas Eve. A physical declaration of war.
Evan arrived thirty minutes later, with Sloane on his arm. She looked radiant, playing the part of the glowing, soon-to-be mother of a billionaire heir perfectly.
I stood on the mezzanine level with Arthur, watching them navigate the crowd.
“Does he have the flash drive?” Arthur asked quietly, swirling his scotch.
“In his left breast pocket,” I replied. “Loaded with fake schematics that look identical to our Connecticut plans. Once Thorne plugs it into his corporate server, our cybersecurity team will have undeniable proof of corporate espionage.”
Below us, Evan led Sloane toward a quiet alcove near the coat check.
A moment later, Julian Thorne detached himself from a group of politicians and casually walked toward the same alcove.
I tapped the earpiece hidden beneath my hair. Vance was in a surveillance van parked in the alley outside.
“They’re in position, Vance. Audio recording?” I whispered.
“Loud and clear, Claire,” Vance’s voice crackled in my ear.
Through the hidden microphones Evan was wearing, we listened to the conversation.
“I have the files,” Evan’s voice was shaky, strained. He was a terrible actor.
“Give them to me,” Sloane demanded, dropping the loving girlfriend routine instantly.
“Not until you tell me,” Evan pressed. “Is the baby mine, or Thorne’s?”
There was a tense silence on the audio feed.
Then, Julian Thorne laughed. It was a cruel, echoing sound.
“Don’t be pathetic, Evan. Sloane has been on birth control since she met you. She isn’t pregnant. She just needed a hook to ensure you wouldn’t back out of giving us the files.”
My breath hitched. Not pregnant.
On the feed, we heard the sound of a struggle. A heavy thud against a wall.
“Evan, stop!” Sloane shrieked.
I looked at Arthur. The plan was going off the rails. Evan was supposed to hand over the drive and walk away.
“He’s fighting them,” I realized, panic rising in my throat.
“Vance, send security in,” Arthur barked into his own radio.
May you like
But before security could reach the alcove, the sound of breaking glass echoed over the ballroom music.
Julian Thorne staggered out of the shadows, blood pouring from a deep cut above his eye, holding the flash drive in his hand.
