Chapter 11 - Cracks in the Facade
The grand ballroom of the Francis Marion Hotel was ablaze with crystal chandeliers, antique silver, and the perfume of Charleston’s oldest money. Tuxedos and couture silk dresses swept across the polished marble. In the center of the room, holding court near the ice sculpture, stood Eleanor Vance.
She was draped in emerald-green velvet, her diamond choker sparkling under the lights. Surrounding her were the exact same inner circle who had sat at her mahogany dining table three years ago—the judges, the bank directors, the social arbiters who had watched her daughter walk into exile without a single protest.
"It’s simply a temporary liquidity adjustment," Eleanor was saying smoothly, waving her champagne flute dismissively to the president of Carolina Maritime Bank. "The Savannah waterfront tower will generate twenty million in ground leases by the fourth quarter. Magnolia Crest remains completely secure."
The heavy double doors of the ballroom swung open.
The master of ceremonies stepped to the microphone, his voice cutting through the hum of jazz and conversation.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the Charleston Historic Preservation Society is proud to introduce tonight’s keynote patron, Mr. Thomas Holloway, and the Chief Architectural Conservator of Oakhaven Manor... Amanda Vance."
A collective gasp rippled through the room.
Amanda walked in on Holloway’s arm. She wore a floor-length, backless gown of midnight-blue silk, tailored to perfection. Her hair was swept up, exposing the proud, elegant line of her neck. She wore no jewelry except for a single, heavy brass key suspended from a braided black cord around her wrist—the master key to Oakhaven Manor.
Eleanor froze, the glass in her hand wobbling so violently that champagne sloshed over her diamond-encrusted rings.
Whispers broke out across the ballroom like wildfire.
"Is that Amanda?"
"I thought she was in prison—Eleanor said—"
"Good lord, she’s with Holloway. Holloway bought the river estate!"
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Amanda didn't look at the crowd. Her eyes locked directly onto Eleanor’s across the sea of silk and velvet. She smiled—a cold, terrifying smile of absolute victory.
***
