I had no idea that across town, the Bennett family was mobilizing against me like a military operation. While I relaxed in my Presidential Suite, completely unaware of the storm brewing, Old Mrs. Bennett was pacing her living room like a caged predator.
The elegant dining room still bore traces of her disastrous birthday celebration. Abandoned champagne glasses sat forgotten on marble surfaces. The lingering scent of expensive perfume mixed with the bitter taste of humiliation that hung in the air.
"Amelia, tell me again what you saw," the old woman demanded, her voice sharp with barely contained fury.
Amelia Graham straightened in her chair, relishing her role as bearer of crucial intelligence. "Mrs. Bennett, I'm telling you, that boy was throwing money around like he owned the city. A million-dollar bracelet. Just like that."
"From a delivery driver's salary," Old Mrs. Bennett muttered, her weathered hands clenching into fists. "It's impossible."
