Chapter 8 - Desperate Measures
Across town, the ballroom had rapidly emptied. The festive engagement party had dissolved into hushed, scandalous whispers. Julian was pacing furiously in the venue's back office, his tie undone and his hair disheveled. Eleanor stood by the door, her phone glued to her ear.
"What do you mean you can't delete it?" Eleanor hissed into the receiver, glaring at the venue’s nervous night manager.
"Ma'am, the police are already here," the manager stammered. "They have a warrant for the server. If I tamper with it, I'll go to jail."
Eleanor slammed the phone down. She turned to her son, her usual icy composure cracking. "You fool! You told me the cameras in this wing were decorative."
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"They were supposed to be!" Julian panicked, running his hands over his face. "I needed the insurance money, Mom. My bookie said if I don't pay the fifty grand by Friday, they're going to break my legs. I just needed a scapegoat!"
Before Eleanor could reprimand him, heavy knocks echoed against the office door. Two police officers stepped inside, their expressions stern. The truth was no longer hidden in the shadows of their privilege.
