Chapter 4 - The Shadow of the Gala
The night of the charity gala arrived, bringing chaos to the Whitmore estate. Catering trucks lined the driveway, florists rushed through the halls with massive arrangements of white lilies, and a string quartet was tuning their instruments in the grand ballroom.
Sarah was kept late to handle any spills or emergencies. She wore a formal black-and-white uniform, feeling completely invisible among the wealthy guests in tuxedos and sparkling evening gowns who began filling the foyer.
Arthur Whitmore stood at the center of the room, playing the perfect, charming host. To the outside world, he was a powerful, unflappable philanthropist. But Sarah noticed the tight white knuckles on his hands every time someone asked about his wife or daughter.
"Where is beautiful little Brooke tonight, Arthur?" a wealthy woman in a diamond necklace asked loudly. "We'd love to see her!"
"Brooke is feeling under the weather, Evelyn," Arthur replied smoothly, though his smile didn't reach his eyes. "The excitement was a bit too much for her."
Sarah knew it was a lie. Just an hour ago, she had seen Nancy carry a tray of untouched food up to the third floor. Brooke wasn't sick; she was hidden away, hidden from a world her father didn't want her to disrupt.
As the party moved into the grand ballroom, Sarah was tasked with cleaning a spilled glass of red wine near the main staircase. As she worked, she heard a commotion from the upper floors.
It was a low, fierce barking, followed by the sound of breaking glass.
Barnaby.
The music below masked the sound for the guests, but Arthur Whitmore heard it. Sarah watched his face drain of color. He excused himself from a group of investors and strode purposefully toward the staircase.
Sarah slipped up the back service stairs, driven by a terrible instinct that something was about to go horribly wrong. When she reached the third floor, she saw that the door to the west wing wing was wide open.
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Arthur had forgotten to lock it in his haste to prepare for the gala.
Barnaby, the golden retriever, had managed to break through the inner glass door of the studio and was now running frantically down the hallway, barking in terror at the loud music echoing from below. And standing right in his path, completely frozen in fear, was Brooke.
