Audrey's POV
The next few minutes were a blur of flashing lights and shouted orders, but not the celebratory kind. The paramedics arrived, cutting through the gawking crowd with professional efficiency. They loaded a pale, shaky Mr. Whitmore onto a gurney, an oxygen mask over his face. I could only stand there and watch as they wheeled him away, his eyes meeting mine for a brief, terrifying second—full of pain and a dawning, cold suspicion.
What a way for my welcome party to end.
Guests were streaming toward the exits now, casting horrified glances back at me, their whispers like a swarm of locusts. The police and additional security had finally cordoned off the worst of the reporters, holding them back at the entrance, but their cameras were still trained on the scene, hungry for one more shot.
