Chapter 6 - The Feast of Truth
At eight o'clock, the dining room was buzzing with high-volume conversation and the clinking of expensive crystal. Derek was standing at the head of the table, holding his wine glass aloft, preparing to make his grand mid-dinner speech.
"Everyone, if I could have your attention for a moment!" Derek announced, his face flushed red with wine and pride.
The room fell quiet. The junior partners looked up attentively, while Michael Stanton stared down at his phone, his brow furrowed into deep, angry lines as he read a rapidly growing string of urgent text messages from his personal managing team.
"Tonight marks a milestone for me," Derek began, his voice echoing under the high ceiling. "Forty years old. They say life begins at forty, but a man is only as good as the foundation he builds and the people he surrounds himself with. I want to thank my parents, who taught me how to win at all costs."
Arthur and Eleanor beamed with pride, raising their glasses in unison.
"And I want to thank Michael Stanton," Derek continued, bowing slightly toward the managing partner. "A man who has been a mentor, a leader, and someone whose legacy I intend to carry forward as senior partner of this firm."
Julianna sat utterly motionless, her face as pale as a bedsheet, her hands trembling so violently beneath the table that her diamond rings clattered against her glass.
I pushed open the swinging kitchen doors, carrying the heavy mahogany tray with my left hand, balancing it against my waist with my cast.
"And finally," Derek said, turning his head to glance dismissively at me as I entered the room, "I suppose I should thank my wife, Monica. Even with a broken arm—and a bit of a clumsy spirit—she managed to put together a meal that I think we will all remember."
"Oh, it will be remembered, Derek," I said, my voice cutting through the quiet room like a razor blade.
Derek frowned slightly, annoyed by my interruption. "Monica, drop the menus and go carve the roast."
"I brought the special commemorative birthday menus first, Derek," I said smoothly, stepping to the side of the table. "I thought our guests would like to see what went into making tonight possible."
I began placing a silver-embossed booklet in front of each guest, starting with Arthur and Eleanor, moving down to the junior partners, then to Julianna, and finally placing one directly in front of Michael Stanton.
"What is this, Monica?" Eleanor asked, opening her booklet with her manicured fingers. "I don't need a menu for dessert—"
She stopped talking.
Across the table, Victoria gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.
A junior partner sitting beside her dropped his wine glass, sending dark red liquid spilling across the white linen tablecloth like a pool of fresh blood.
"What the hell...?" the junior partner whispered, staring wide-eyed at the high-resolution photo of Derek entering the downtown apartment with Julianna Stanton.
"Monica, what is the meaning of this childish stunt?!" Derek barked, his voice sharp with rising anger as he reached down to snatch the booklet from Michael Stanton’s hands. "Did you put old financial sheets in here? Are you out of your mind?!"
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"Don't touch that, Derek," Michael Stanton said.
The tone in Stanton’s voice wasn't loud. It was low, guttural, and vibrating with a terrifying, apocalyptic rage.
