I jumped out of the van practically before we came to a complete stop.
"Andrew, can you check into our rooms and bring the luggage inside? I don't have much time. I have to get backstage. People are already coming in," I said and grabbed the dress from my duffel bag.
For someone who complained I was too old-fashioned, my competitor seemed to be having a hard time instituting universal mobile check-in, even though that was something I had begun to pursue at my establishment during the 2020s. He was more focused on building a concert venue than the comfort of his own patrons. But there was no time to complain now.
I followed the squished current inside, hoping I'd stay hidden from the public for the time being. The lobby was rife with chaos, the ticket booth swamped with impatient angry patrons and the concierges overwhelmed with long lines.
Considering this was the hotel chain narrowly below me in terms of sales, they had quite a lot of work to do in terms of quality of service. In this economy, quality for a cheap price was equivalent to striking a gold mine.
The grandmotherly event coordinator met me just past the door.
"There you are! I've been looking everywhere for you, I was starting to think you weren't going to show up," she remarked, and led me toward the dressing room directly behind stage.
"Of course I was going to show up, I don't just disappear like that. I wouldn't miss this event for the world," I reassured her.
Two costume developers stood waiting in the dressing room.
"That is a lovely dress, Miss. Linwood," one of them said as they removed it from its casing.
"It's vintage, it totally matches you," the other in the room responded, playing off her compliments.
It was as if they knew I thought this was extreme. I was perfectly capable of donning my own clothing. Samuel just wanted to make my experience a little more aggravating.
"Well, thank you," I said, allowing their compliments to brighten my day nonetheless.
The dress was a shimmering cherry red, stopping just below the ankles. The costume developers slipped on my matching heels and I made my way to the makeup artist.
She brushed out my strawberry blonde hair and tied it into an elegant braid.
Once she was done preparing my face for the speech, I took my place on the right side of the stage. Some of course, shot glares at me for my lateness, but I ignored them and focused on the task ahead of me. I hated standing in close proximity with all these elite snobs. It was as if one imperfection was the end of the world.
The arena was filled to the brim. Despite everyone's economic troubles, the event drew more people each year. People were becoming more and more infatuated with beating the system.
I had no time to review the notes I had prepared. But after more than a hundred years of public speaking, I should have been more than capable of delivering a well-articulated opener without needing note cards.
"Is everyone ready?" the host asked.
Everyone gave him the "go ahead" signal. The lights dimmed and the host walked out onto the grand stage.
I couldn't help but feel a slight bit of sympathy for the young man as he stammered out there. He was Samuel Kelly's son, who couldn't possibly be much older than twenty-five. He had never been the most eloquent speaker, but the elevated frequency in which he jumbled his words was noticeable.
But I couldn't complain. Matthew took after his mother's kindness, even though he was forced to put up with his dad's ridiculous lifestyle. It was always customary for the CEO of the hotel hosting the conference to introduce each keynote speaker, so long as they were still alive. Sam was probably off traveling with his mistresses.
"And with that, I would like to handle it off to our keynote speaker, Victoria Linwood of Linwood Inn!" he said, pouring as much enthusiasm into his voice as he possibly could.
I walked out with confidence upon hearing my cue, his body relaxing with relief as I shook his hand and stood in front of the podium.
I took the long-standing ovation time to survey the room. Andrew and Riley sat in the first row on the right, sandwiched between five of the ultra-rich on either side. The snobs were bound to express their disdain for this, but the event coordinator knew I didn't care. She knew I wouldn't allow them to be treated like indentured servants.
But they were conveniently placed next to Peter. His employees took five seats in the row behind them. He had maintained a friendly conversation with my assistants during the drive to Miami. He wouldn't mind. They could support me in peace.
My eyes caught a glimpse of a group of peculiar men standing on the edge of the balcony. I ignored them and continued through the rest of the speech. But each time I paused for the reactions of the audience, I couldn't ignore their presence. There were nine, all wearing sunglasses and the same gray suits, holding guns to their chests.
There was no need to feel any kind of distress. They were probably just part of Sam's security detail.
But in the back of my mind, I debunked that theory rather quickly. I had seen them in action many times before. They were usually bolstered with the same equipment Peter's employees wore, bulletproof vests, a taser, and an assault rifle. These looked like regular old gentlemen.
I tried to shorten my closing remarks, their presence growing more intimidating with each passing second. Something within me knew I needed to get the crowd out of there.
As I began my last sentence, I looked up at the balcony once more. All nine men had their guns pointed directly at me.
I froze, every muscle in my body tightening with horror. It was as if they were waiting for me to call Matthew back onto the stage, waiting for the last word to escape my lips.
"Stop!"