Eli did not reply. He looked toward the double doors leading to the kitchen hallway.
A floorboard creaked in the hallway behind us, sharp and loud in the empty room.
I dropped my fork back onto the white linen. “Is someone else here?”
Eli did not answer. He stepped back from the table, his wooden clipboard pressed tight to his chest.
Martin Cole stood in the doorway of the ballroom hallway, his hands clasped behind his back. He adjusted his gold-plated cuffs, his face smooth and completely blank.
“Eli,” Martin said, his voice carrying easily across the empty dance floor. “A word in the corridor, please.”
Eli nodded once, keeping his head down as he walked toward the exit.
I stood up from the head table, my long white dress rustling against the chair legs. I followed them slowly, my flat shoes making no sound on the thick carpet of the inner hallway.
Through the half-open door of the service pantry, I could see Martin standing under the bare fluorescent bulb.
“You belong at your post, Eli,” Martin said, his voice a low, chilly whisper.
“She was sitting alone, Mr. Cole,” Eli said. “She has not eaten all day.”
“The client paid for a dinner service, not a companion,” Martin said, adjusting his left cuff again. “We are here to clear the tables, not to participate in the tragedy.”
I stepped into the hallway, my shoulder brushing the door frame. “He was only being kind.”
Martin turned to face me, his features instantly freezing into a professional smile that did not reach his eyes. “Of course, Miss Price. We only want to ensure our staff remains professional during your booking.”
He stepped closer to me, his black shoes polished to a high mirror shine. “We do, however, need to discuss the schedule for the rest of the evening.”
“The schedule?” I asked, my thumb finding the bare skin where my ring should have been.
“Your contract for the room expires at midnight,” Martin said, his tone perfectly flat. “Any occupancy past twelve o’clock incurs an immediate overtime fee of two thousand four hundred dollars.”
I felt a cold chill settle under my ribs. “Two thousand four hundred?”
“It is standard in our eighteen thousand four hundred dollar package,” Martin said, pulling a small silver pen from his pocket to tap the clipboard. “The staff must be paid hourly after hours, and the cleaning crew is on a union contract. If you are not out by midnight, the charge will be added to your father’s final invoice.”
“My father cannot pay that,” I said, my voice barely a whisper.
“The contract was signed by Frank Price,” Martin said, his voice entirely devoid of warmth. “And the venue rules are quite clear. Thirty days to settle any outstanding balance after the event date.”
“He spent his entire retirement savings on the deposit,” I said.
“Then I suggest you begin gathering your belongings shortly,” Martin said. He looked at his watch, then turned back toward the main kitchen doors. “You have exactly three hours.”
He walked away, his leather soles clicking rhythmically against the tile.
I stood in the dim hallway, the silence pressing in from the empty rooms. My phone was tucked into my small silk purse back at the head table, switched off to avoid the messages I knew were waiting there.
I walked back into the ballroom, the massive crystal chandeliers casting long, yellow shadows across the rows of empty round tables.
Eli was standing near the side exit doors, his back to me as he wiped down a glass tray.
He turned around as I approached. Instead of going back to the kitchen as Martin had ordered, Eli walked straight to the head table, pulled out a chair next to mine, and sat down.
He set his clipboard on the table, resting his hands on the wooden frame.
“You are going to get in trouble,” I said, staying on my feet.
“I am already in trouble,” Eli said quietly. “Martin has been looking for a reason to write me up since Tuesday. Sit down, Madison.”
I sat back down, the silk of my dress pooling around my knees. “He is going to charge my father another two thousand four hundred dollars.”
“Not if we get you out of here before the clock strikes twelve,” Eli said. “But you need to eat something first. You cannot face your father on an empty stomach.”
“Why is Martin being so difficult?” I asked. “He knows what Tyler did.”
“Martin cares about the reputation of White Oak Manor,” Eli said. “He does not want people in town saying this place is bad luck. He wants this cleaned up and forgotten before the corporate luncheon tomorrow morning.”
“Tyler’s mother has been complaining about this place for eighteen months,” I said. “She said the chandeliers were gaudy and the carpet was cheap. But she still insisted we book it.”
“She wanted the address,” Eli said. “She wanted to show her friends that her son was marrying into a family that could afford White Oak Manor.”
I stared at the empty chair where Tyler was supposed to sit. “My father was the one who paid for it.”
“I know,” Eli said. He reached over and pushed the plate of meatballs slightly closer to me. “Eat.”
I took a small bite. The food was delicious, but it tasted like ashes in my mouth. “What am I going to do, Eli?”
“We are going to pack up the centerpieces,” Eli said. “And we are going to do it before midnight.”
I stood up and walked toward the side exit doors, wanting to feel the cool air from the courtyard. The glass was dark, reflecting the empty room behind me like a giant black mirror.
“You should go home, Madison,” Eli said softly, standing up from the table. “There is nothing left for you to do here tonight.”
“I cannot go back to my father’s house yet,” I said, looking out into the darkness. “He is sitting in the kitchen waiting for me to tell him what happened to the money.”
“Did Tyler take it?” Eli asked.
