Chapter 6 - What Was Put in Front of Her
Evelyn didn't flinch.
She walked slowly down the steps from the dais, her silk gown whispering against the marble floor, moving with the absolute, unshakeable confidence of a woman who knew her own mind better than any corporate board in the city.
She stopped beside the mayor’s table, where the silver dome had just been lifted.
A magnificent cut of seared beef sat on a bed of roasted root vegetables, glistening under the ballroom lights.
Arthur Pendelton sneered from the podium. “Well, Miss Collins? Is it authentic A5 Wagyu from Kobe? Or is your amateur palate finally stumped?”
Evelyn didn't touch the meat. Instead, she leaned over the plate, closed her eyes, and took a deep, deliberate breath through her nose.
The ballroom was so quiet you could hear the ice melting in champagne flutes across the room.
When Evelyn opened her eyes, she looked straight up at Arthur Pendelton on the stage.
“It’s not Wagyu,” she said, her voice carrying effortlessly across the five-hundred-person ballroom.
A murmur of shock rippled through the tables.
“It’s domestic grain-fed ribeye,” Evelyn continued, ticking off the details with surgical precision. “Aged for twenty-one days, which is respectable, but it’s been marinated in commercial soy sauce and liquid smoke to artificially mimic the umami profile of authentic Japanese beef. Furthermore, the fat cap has been glued to the side using meat transglutaminase—commonly known as meat glue—because the cut was improperly butchered.”
Arthur’s smug smile vanished instantly, replaced by a look of sheer, unadulterated panic. “That’s—that’s absurd! You haven't even tasted it!”
“I don't need to taste fraud to know it smells like chemicals,” Evelyn replied coldly. She turned her gaze to the head of the tourism board. “Mr. Mayor, I would advise against eating the beef. And if you check the kitchen manifest, you’ll find that Arthur Pendelton’s newly formed consulting firm billed our hotel fifty thousand dollars for this exact fraudulent delivery.”
Total, stunned silence swallowed the ballroom.
Then, slowly, John Scott stood up from his seat at the head table. He walked out into the center of the floor, his obsidian eyes fixed entirely on Arthur Pendelton, who was now backing away from the podium toward the exit.
“Security,” John said, his voice ringing with a cold, absolute authority that made every guest in the room shiver. “Escort Mr. Pendelton out of my hotel. And confiscate his phone before he can delete his vendor communications.”
Two security guards appeared instantly, grabbing Arthur by both arms and dragging him out of the ballroom as the crowd watched in stunned fascination.
John didn't watch Arthur leave. He turned his head, looking across the room straight at Evelyn.
The tension in the ballroom slowly dissolved, replaced by a sudden, surging wave of applause led by the mayor himself, who stood up and raised his glass in her direction.
John walked over to Evelyn, stopping just inches away from her in the center of the grand ballroom. The harsh ballroom lights caught the warm, admiring smile playing across his face—a smile he reserved for no one else in the world.
“You never cease to amaze me, Evelyn Collins,” he murmured, his voice low and rich.
“You owe me a new pair of shoes for walking through this corporate minefield,” she whispered back, a bright, defiant spark in her eyes.
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“I owe you a lot more than that,” John said, taking her hand in front of five hundred of Chicago’s most elite citizens. “Starting with dinner at a restaurant where I promise the chef doesn't use meat glue or frozen fish.”
“That,” Evelyn smiled, “sounds like a negotiation I can finally agree to.”
