Chapter 11 - The Rehearsal for a Funeral and Champagne Glasses Clinking Over a Corpse
The ballroom double doors at the top of the grand marble staircase swung open with a resounding, thunderous boom.
A single, brilliant white spotlight illuminated the top of the stairs.
Walking down the marble steps with absolute, unyielding power, dressed in an immaculate tuxedo, walked Ethan Whitmore.
Beside him walked Claire, dressed in an elegant midnight-navy evening gown, holding the hand of little Noah.
The entire ballroom gasped in collective, paralyzing shock.
“He’s… he’s alive!” a senator yelled from the front row.
“Ethan?!” Vanessa whispered, her knees buckling beneath her. She collapsed onto the stage, clutching the podium for support, staring up at her husband as if she were looking at an avenging ghost risen from the grave.
Julian Vance tried to sprint toward the rear garden exit, but the double doors burst open.
A dozen heavily armed FBI tactical agents and Greenwich police officers, led by Captain Miller and Agent Sarah Lin, swarmed the ballroom with assault rifles and badges raised.
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“Federal agents! Nobody move! Julian Vance, drop to the floor!”
Julian was tackled onto the polished hardwood floor, his face slammed against the marble, his crystal champagne flute shattering into a thousand pieces beneath his chest.
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