Chapter 8 - The Unauthorized Gala
Two weeks passed in eerie silence. Richard texted me twice, asking if I had "made progress on the paperwork," to which I replied simply that my attorney was reviewing the tax implications. That kept him complacent. He assumed Arthur was simply dragging his feet.
Then came Saturday evening.
I had arranged to spend the weekend in the city at the historic Plaza Hotel, attending the symphony and having dinner with my old college roommate. I left the mansion on Friday afternoon, leaving Mrs. Gable with two paid days off.
What Richard and Tyler didn't know was that my security system had recently been upgraded by Arthur’s firm. Every camera, every motion sensor, and every electronic gate log was beamed directly to an iPad app Arthur’s assistant had set up for me.
At 9:30 PM on Saturday, while I was sipping chamomile tea in my hotel suite, my phone began vibrating continuously.
*Alert: Front Gate Opened (Manual Override).*
*Alert: Driveway Motion Detected (Multiple Vehicles).*
*Alert: Main Foyer Motion Detected.*
I tapped the screen and opened the live camera feed.
My jaw tightened. The grand driveway was packed with over thirty luxury sports cars and rented convertibles. The front lawn had been illuminated with garish purple and neon-green floodlights. Giant bass speakers were being set up on the flagstone terrace overlooking the rose garden.
Dozens of college-aged kids, holding red plastic cups and champagne bottles, were streaming through the front doors.
Then I switched the camera to the grand ballroom.
A banner was strung across the hand-painted ceiling: **"TYLER’S MANSION TAKEOVER — EPISODE 1."**
Tyler was standing on the DJ riser, holding a microphone, surrounded by girls in skimpy party dresses and guys recording him with professional steady-cams.
"Welcome to the Vance Estate, baby!" Tyler’s voice boomed through the ballroom speakers, picked up clearly by the audio feed. "My grandmother’s out of town getting her joints oiled, so tonight, the future starts now! Open bar in the conservatory! Whatever breaks, Dad’s insurance covers it anyway!"
A roar of cheers erupted. Someone popped a magnum bottle of champagne, spraying the foam directly across the antique silk wallpaper Thomas had imported from France.
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I didn't panic. I didn't scream. I simply picked up the hotel room phone and dialed Arthur Bennett’s cell.
"Arthur," I said calmly. "It’s time. Call the police chief. Call Sarah Jenkins and the foundation board. And order us a car back to the estate. We’re attending Tyler’s party."
