"There was an incident at table one. Your daughter had an altercation with one of the catering staff."
Richard's face went pale. "What kind of altercation?"
"She struck him, sir, and threw wine in his face. Multiple guests witnessed it. Some may have recorded it."
Richard closed his eyes. He pressed his thumb and forefinger against the bridge of his nose. He could feel his blood pressure climbing, the familiar tightness in his chest that came every time Victoria's name appeared next to the word "incident."
"Where is she now?"
"At her table, drinking champagne."
"And the staff member?"
"In the service corridor. His name is Bryant. He works for Coleman Catering."
Richard opened his eyes. Something in the name caught him, but he couldn't place it, not yet. The name floated at the edge of his memory like a word on the tip of his tongue.
"Handle it quietly," Richard said. "Apologize to the man. Offer him compensation. Whatever it takes. I can't have this blowing up tonight. Not with the board vote in 9 days. If the press picks this up before I secure Ashford's backing, we're finished."
Philip nodded and disappeared into the crowd.
Back in the service corridor, Bryant was sitting on an overturned crate. Derek stood beside him, arms crossed, jaw tight.
"You're really not going to do anything?"
"I'm going to do everything," Bryant said. "Just not the way you think."
He checked his watch: 8:45. Richard's keynote was scheduled for 9:00. The moment Richard took that stage, every eye would be on him, every camera, every microphone. That was when Bryant would walk back into the ballroom—not as a waiter.
The door from the main hall opened. Philip stepped through, adjusting his glasses. "Excuse me, are you the gentleman from the incident at table one?"
Bryant looked up. "I am."
Philip straightened his tie. "On behalf of Sterling Capital and the Sterling family, I'd like to offer our sincerest apologies for the behavior of Ms. Sterling. We understand the situation was inappropriate. And we'd like to offer you financial compensation for—"
"How much?"
Philip blinked. "I'm sorry?"
"How much is a slap in the face worth to the Sterling family?"
Philip opened his mouth, closed it, then pulled out a checkbook. "We were thinking $5,000 for your trouble. And of course, a formal written apology."
"5,000?" Bryant repeated the number like he was tasting something rotten. "Your boss's daughter assaults a man in front of 300 witnesses, and the price tag is $5,000."
"We could go to 10," Philip said quickly. "And a year of complimentary service at any Sterling property."
Bryant stood up. He was taller than Philip by 4 inches. He looked down at him, not with anger, but with something heavier: pity.
"Tell Richard Sterling that the apology he needs to worry about isn't the one he owes me. It's the one he's going to owe his shareholders."
Philip's face went white. "I'm sorry, what?"
"He'll understand. Soon."
Bryant looked at Derek. "How's my shirt?"
Derek stared at him. "It's covered in wine."
"Good." Bryant rolled up his sleeves. The red stain ran from his collar to his forearms. "I want them to see it."
Derek's eyes widened. "You're going back out there?"
"I'm going back out there."
Bryant buttoned his cuffs at the elbow. He straightened his back. He looked at the door that led back to the ballroom. On the other side of that door, 300 people were eating dessert, Victoria Sterling was laughing, Richard Sterling was about to take the stage, and none of them had any idea who was about to walk back through that door.
Bryant pushed it open.
Richard Sterling took the stage at exactly 9:00. The spotlight hit him, and 300 guests turned to face the podium. He launched into his keynote about Sterling Capital's vision for the next decade.
He was 3 minutes in when the ballroom doors opened.
Bryant Ashford walked through them, still wearing the catering uniform, still wearing the wine. The red stain had dried into his shirt like war paint. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows. His eyes were locked on the stage.
Conversations didn't stop; they collapsed. Heads turned, forks dropped, phones came up.