Chapter 5 - GHOSTS AT THE GALA
“Hang up the phone, Jason,” I said, stepping between him and my father.
Jason’s eyes were frantic, sweat gleaming on his forehead beneath the flickering fluorescent work lights. “You don't understand, Adrian! Julian promised me five percent of the acquisition payout! That’s over a million dollars. I’ve worked seventy-hour weeks for you for four years, breaking my back while you fly around on private jets signing expansion deals! I have kids, Adrian!”
“And Lucy has a daughter,” I said, gesturing toward the woman standing behind me, her arm wrapped securely around my father. “She has a daughter in Queens, and she makes nineteen dollars an hour, yet she had the decency not to abandon a defenseless human being. You sold your soul for a commission on a crime.”
“It’s not a crime!” Jason yelled, his voice cracking. “It’s corporate restructuring! The old man was declared legally dead five years ago!”
My father took a fragile step forward. “Jason,” he whispered, his voice carrying the deep, authoritative timbre of the man who had laid the cornerstone of this very hotel forty years ago. “Look at me. I was the one who hired your father as head of catering when you were still in elementary school. I paid for your mother’s cancer treatments out of my private account. Does loyalty rot so fast in this family?”
Jason stopped. The color drained from his face as he looked past my shoulder, really looking at Thomas Belmont for the first time. The realization struck him like a physical blow. “Mr... Mr. Belmont?”
“Put the phone down,” I said softly.
Before Jason could answer, the heavy fire doors behind us banged open. Three private security guards in unmarked black uniforms burst into the hallway, batons drawn.
“There they are!” the lead guard shouted.
Jason looked at the approaching guards, looked at my father, and then something shattered inside him. Without a word, he grabbed a massive commercial linen hamper made of reinforced steel, threw his entire body weight behind it, and shoved it directly into the narrow corridor, jamming the fire doors and sending the first two guards sprawling into a tangle of heavy canvas and metal.
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“Run!” Jason shouted, bracing his back against the barricade as the guards fought to push through. “Take the tunnel! Go!”
Lucy didn't hesitate. She threw the latch on the wine cellar hatch, hauling it open. I helped my father through the narrow brick passage that led into the underground city beneath New York.
