Chapter 5 - THE GALA OF LIES
The grand ballroom of the Hay-Adams Hotel overlooked the illuminated South Lawn of the White House. Crystal chandeliers threw sparkling light across men in ten-thousand-dollar tuxedos and women draped in silk and diamonds.
I stood near the entrance, adjusting the cuff of my dark velvet emerald green evening dress. The dress had full-length tailored lace sleeves—elegant enough for a high-society D.C. gala, but strategically designed to completely hide the skin graft on my left arm while allowing me full mobility.
In my evening clutch bag, nestled next to a compact mirror, was Carver’s silver flash drive containing the Army Cyber Command extraction worm.
Across the room, Franklin was in his absolute element. He wore a custom-tailored tuxedo, holding a glass of vintage champagne as he laughed with two civilian defense officials and a retired rear admiral. Standing right beside him, looking nervous and wearing an ill-fitting civilian suit, was Derek.
Derek looked paranoid, his eyes darting toward the security guards stationed at the doors every time someone walked in. He knew the ground was shaking beneath his feet, even if he didn't know the full extent of the avalanche coming.
I picked up a glass of sparkling water from a passing waiter’s tray and began moving smoothly through the crowd, staying in the shadows of the large marble pillars.
“...and as I was telling the Undersecretary,” Franklin’s loud, self-important voice drifted across the room, “our logistics tracking software eliminates administrative lag entirely. We guarantee real-time accountability for every crate shipped to European depots.”
“That’s an impressive claim, Mr. Harrington,” the retired admiral remarked. “Current military supply pipelines have a four percent discrepancy margin.”
“Not with Aegis Strategic Solutions,” Franklin lied smoothly, clapping Derek on the shoulder. “My son Derek managed our forward verification protocols during his operational tour in Germany. He personally ensured zero accounting leakage.”
Derek gave a weak, strained smile, sweating beneath the bright ballroom lights. “Yes... zero leakage, Admiral.”
I waited until Franklin stepped away from the group to head toward a private VIP lounge at the back of the ballroom, where his personal security guard was posted near a set of mahogany double doors. Inside that room was Franklin’s mobile command setup—the secure laptop he used to execute high-value wire transfers during live bidding events.
I timed my approach precisely.
As Franklin approached the doors, I stepped out from behind a floral arrangement, blocking his path.
Franklin stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes went wide with shock, then narrowed into an expression of pure venom.
“Noel?” he whispered fiercely, looking around to see if anyone was watching. “What the hell are you doing here? Who let you in?”
“It’s a public venue, Franklin,” I said softly, taking a calm sip of my water. “Or at least, public enough for people with the right security clearance.”
Franklin grabbed my upper right arm, dragging me three steps into the shadow of a decorative alcove. His grip was tight, his breath smelling heavily of bourbon.
“You’ve caused enough damage,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “You ruined Derek’s career! The brigade opened a formal inquiry into his service records because of your big mouth!”
“Derek ruined his own career when he lied to a three-star general,” I said, keeping my voice utterly level.
“Listen to me, you ungrateful little brat,” Franklin growled, leaning in close. “Everything I built—this company, this life, this house—was built to ensure this family had power! Your mother left you nothing! I gave you a roof over your head!”
“You used my mother’s life insurance policy to buy your first commercial warehouse,” I corrected him, staring straight into his bloodshot eyes. “I found the probate records three years ago, Franklin. You didn't build an empire. You stole my mother’s legacy, and then you treated me like an intruder in my own home.”
Franklin’s face twisted into a grotesque sneer. “And look at you now. A bitter, scarred captain playing dress-up in D.C. You think General Carver cares about you? You’re just a pawn he’s using to poke at defense contractors. Once this night is over, he’ll discard you, and you’ll be right back where you started—nothing.”
“Maybe,” I said smoothly. “But tonight, I’m standing right here.”
Franklin let go of my arm with a contemptuous shove. “Get out of my sight before I have security throw you out onto Pennsylvania Avenue.”
He turned, nodded to his security guard, and unlocked the mahogany doors to the private lounge, stepping inside to prepare his final online bid.
I stood in the alcove, watching the door click shut.
I reached into my clutch bag, touching the cold metal of the flash drive.
Franklin thought our encounter was a confrontation of revenge. He had no idea it was a distraction.
While Franklin was arguing with me in the hallway, he hadn't noticed that I had subtly slipped his secondary security keycard—the one he always kept in his outer tuxedo pocket—right out of his jacket when he grabbed my arm.
May you like
I pulled the keycard from my palm, looked at the mahogany door, and smiled.
“Game on, Franklin.”
