Chapter 2 - The Mask Falls
The tension in the ballroom of Bellefleur Manor snapped like dry wood.
The caterer held the evidence bag aloft under the glare of the crystal chandeliers. Rain flickered against the stained-glass arched windows as the venue's security staff—men who usually answered to the Blackwoods—stiffened under the authority radiating from the man in the catering uniform.
"Who are you to bark orders in my house?" Evelyn Thorne-Blackwood demanded, her voice shrill with indignation, though her knuckles turned white against her lace handkerchief. "You’re hired help! Security, throw this man out!"
The caterer didn't even look at her. With one smooth movement, he unzipped his black server vest, pulling out a heavy metal badge and an official credential wallet attached to a lanyard beneath his collar.
"Special Agent Vance Mercer, Federal Bureau of Investigation, Medical Countermeasures and Narcotic Task Force," he said, his voice ringing across the silent room like a anvil strike. "And this entire venue is now a crime scene."
A collective gasp echoed through the three hundred high-society guests.
Grant stepped forward, his face flushed red with embarrassment. "Agent Mercer, this is a private family matter! My fiancee has Type 1 diabetes. She had an episode—she’s dramatic! Look at her, she’s fine!"
Vance turned on Grant with an intensity that made the younger Blackwood step back. "Your fiancée was ripped from her life-sustaining medical device, thrown into hypoglycemia, and then forced to ingest a controlled neuro-sedative compound mixed with concentrated oral hypoglycemics. Look at her eyes, you idiot—that isn't a diabetic coma, that’s acute chemical paralysis!"
At that moment, the grand oak doors of the manor swung open. Six paramedics flanked by armed federal agents rushed down the aisle toward the buffet.
"Over here!" Vance commanded, crouching beside me.
My vision was still swimming in hazy shades of violet and gold. I couldn't move my arms. I couldn't speak. But I could feel Vance’s calloused hand supporting the back of my neck with surprising gentleness as a paramedic pressed a tube of oral glucose and an auto-injector of glucagon into my thigh.
"I’ve got you, Elena," Vance whispered close to my ear, his tone entirely different from the cold authority he directed at the Blackwoods. "Hold on. The antidote is kicking in."
As the paramedics stabilized my vitals, two federal officers approached Evelyn.
"Evelyn Thorne-Blackwood," Vance said, standing up to his full height. "You are under arrest for attempted murder, assault with a deadly weapon, and tampering with medical equipment."
"This is outrageous!" Chloe shrieked, running over to Julian. "Julian, do something! She’s ruining my wedding day! Elena, tell them to stop! Tell them you’re just sick!"
I managed to turn my head slightly. I looked at my sister—standing in her twenty-thousand-dollar gown, worrying about her photos while I lay on the cold marble floor surrounded by paramedics.
I didn't say a word. I simply turned my eyes away from her.
As officers slapped steel handcuffs onto Evelyn’s wrists, she glared at me with pure, unadulterated venom. "You pathetic little parasite," she hissed. "You were never good enough for my son! You brought your dirt into my family!"
"Take her out," Vance ordered calmly.
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As they dragged Evelyn away and the guests erupted into hushed, panicked whispers, Vance knelt back down beside my gurney. He carefully placed my salvaged, ruined insulin pump into a sterile biohazard bag for evidence, then looked into my eyes.
"You're going to be okay, Elena," he said softly. "I'm not letting anyone hurt you again."
