Chapter 6 - The Grand Entrance
Saturday evening arrived with a heavy, winter chill that swept across the city, leaving the streets around Fifth Avenue wet and gleaming under the golden streetlights.
The Plaza Hotel was transformed into a glittering palace. Massive arrangements of white orchids and silver ribbon filled the Grand Ballroom, while a twenty-piece orchestra played softly on the mezzanine level. Over five hundred of the city’s most influential citizens—politicians, hedge fund managers, socialites, and news reporters—filled the room, sipping vintage champagne and nibbling on caviar canapés.
On the main stage at the front of the ballroom, a large gold podium stood ready for Graham’s keynote speech.
Upstairs, on the executive suite level, the atmosphere was far more intimate.
At six-thirty, an hour before the main program was scheduled to begin, a white-glove courier pushed a brass luggage cart down the quiet, carpeted hallway of the penthouse floor. Resting on the top shelf of the cart was a sleek, black velvet shoe box tied with a satin ribbon—the Alessandra white heels from Velloura Bridal.
The courier knocked softly on the double doors of the Presidential Suite.
The door was answered by Bianca Vale. She was wearing a breathtaking, low-back silk gown in silver-white, her blonde hair styled in flawless Hollywood waves. She looked radiant, powerful, and completely triumphant.
"Ah, finally!" Bianca exclaimed, handing the courier a twenty-dollar bill and grabbing the velvet box. "I was beginning to think you got lost."
She pulled the box into the suite, setting it down on the glass coffee table in the center of the lavish sitting room.
Sitting on the silk sofa, wearing a crisp tuxedo with an unbuttoned collar, was Graham. He held a glass of chilled Dom Pérignon in his hand, a broad, triumphant smile on his face as he watched Bianca open the lid of the box.
"They're perfect, Graham," Bianca purred, pulling out the shimmering white satin heels and admiring the pearl embroidery under the chandelier light. "Absolutely perfect."
"Only the best for my future vice president," Graham said, standing up and sliding his arms around her waist from behind. "Tonight, we celebrate the gala. Tomorrow morning, the wire transfer to Zurich clears, and we leave this boring city behind forever."
"And what about your quiet little wife?" Bianca asked, turning in his arms and tracing her fingernail down his lapel. "Is she still sitting at home with her feverish child?"
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"Catherine is harmless," Graham laughed softly, pressing his lips to her neck. "She doesn't have the spine or the intellect to question anything I do. She's probably fast asleep right now, thinking I'm down in the ballroom shaking hands with donors."
"Is that what you really think, Graham?" a voice echoed from the private foyer of the suite.
