Chapter 4 - The Sound of Glass Breaking
Back in the dining room, the holiday dinner was proceeding with the oiled efficiency of a corporate board meeting. Silver flashed, laughter erupted at appropriate intervals, and Patricia Reeves presided over the table like a queen bee who had successfully defended her hive from an invasive species.
Douglas had poured himself another glass of Cabernet, his initial discomfort evaporating under the warm glow of familial validation. The comment about servants in the kitchen had already been metabolized by the table, relegated to the status of a family joke—an edgy, elitist barb that everyone pretended not to notice because acknowledging it would require admitting that Douglas was a casual sadist, and the Reeves family did not admit to flaws in public.
"This dressing is exceptional, Patricia," remarked an uncle from Greenwich, spearing a heavy portion of cornbread stuffing. "Did you use the old family recipe?"
Patricia smiled, smoothing the front of her cashmere cardigan. "Well, Simone follows my general guidelines, of course. I always tell her that home cooking requires a delicate touch. You can't just throw ingredients together and expect elegance."
Across the table, Richard Sr. grunted in agreement, cutting into a thick slice of turkey breast. "Good help is hard to find these days. At least this one stays out of the way when the real business of the family is being discussed."
Douglas chuckled, swirling the wine in his glass. "Oh, she knows her place. Give her a few hours with the leftovers and she'll be right as rain. Honestly, mother, you worry too much about her ambitions with that little catering van. It keeps her busy."
Before Patricia could reply, the heavy mahogany double doors at the entrance of the dining room didn't just open—they swung wide with a sharp, echoing bang that rattled the crystal stemware along the length of the table.
The conversation died instantly. The laughter choked out in real-time.
Nineteen heads turned toward the doorway, expecting a late-arriving cousin or perhaps a member of the catering staff returning with more wine. Instead, standing in the threshold was Simone.
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She wasn't wearing her apron. She had shed the simple black blouse and was now wearing a tailored charcoal wool blazer over a crisp white button-down, her hair pulled back into a severe, elegant knot that made her look less like a local caterer and more like an executive ready for a hostile takeover. Behind her, framed in the grand foyer, stood two figures who made the blood drain entirely from Richard Reeves Sr.’s face: Marcus Vance, senior partner at Vance & Sterling Forensic Accounting, and Agent Miller of the federal Department of Transportation Office of Inspector General.
"Good afternoon, family," Simone’s voice cut through the silence, crisp, clear, and utterly devoid of the warmth she had forced herself to display all morning. "I hope the turkey isn't too dry. I'd hate for your last meal at Holloway Hill to lack proper seasoning."
