Chapter 9
The grand hall of the museum was magnificent,
filled with priceless artwork,
towering marble pillars,
and hundreds of wealthy donors drinking expensive champagne.
I mingled with the crowd,
smiling gracefully,
shaking hands,
and thanking the politicians who had suddenly become our biggest supporters.
My earpiece crackled constantly,
feeding me quiet updates from Vance's team,
as they monitored every face and every movement in the vast room.
The tension was agonizing,
a tight coil in my chest,
but I kept my expression perfectly serene,
projecting the image of a woman completely at peace.
Hours passed,
and the gala moved towards its climax,
a scheduled speech I was supposed to deliver from the main staircase.
As I walked towards the microphone,
I noticed a waiter moving against the natural flow of the crowd,
his posture too rigid,
his eyes locked entirely on me.
He was carrying a silver tray with a single glass of water,
and his right hand was hidden beneath a white cloth napkin.
I whispered a quick alert into my microphone,
identifying the waiter's position near the classical statues,
and I saw Vance's undercover agents immediately shift their trajectory.
The waiter realized he had been spotted,
dropping the tray with a loud,
shattering crash,
and pulling a suppressed handgun from beneath the napkin.
He raised the weapon,
aiming directly at my chest,
but the crowd erupted into panicked screams,
creating a chaotic wall of moving bodies between us.
I dove behind a solid marble pillar,
hearing the sharp,
hissing crack of a suppressed gunshot,
and watching a chunk of stone explode where my head had been a second earlier.
Vance tackled the shooter from the side,
driving him hard into the polished floor,
while other agents rushed forward to secure the weapon.
The Architect fought with vicious,
calculated brutality,
breaking an agent's arm and nearly escaping into the panicked stampede,
but Vance finally subdued him with a heavy blow to the temple.
The police secured the perimeter,
locking down the museum,
and guiding the terrified guests toward the emergency exits.
I stepped out from behind the pillar,
my crimson dress covered in white marble dust,
and looked down at the man who had been sent to kill me.
He stared back with cold,
empty eyes,
refusing to speak,
but his silence did not matter anymore.
He was in federal custody,
the contract was broken,
and the last lingering threat of the corrupt mayor had been neutralized.
I walked out of the museum,
May you like
breathing the cool night air,
and feeling the weight of the past finally lift from my shoulders for good.
