Chapter 5 - The Gala at the PlazaBy late November, the news of Arthur Morrison’s sudden transformation from a cold, reclusive corporate workaholic to a devoted, hands-on father had become the talk of New York society.
The annual Morrison Foundation Children’s Hospital Gala was held in the Grand Ballroom of The Plaza Hotel in Manhattan—an event that brought together five hundred of the country’s most prominent philanthropists, corporate leaders, and media executives.
In previous years, I had attended alone, staying for thirty minutes, making a multi-million-dollar donation, and leaving before dinner was served.
Tonight was different.
I stood near the central marble balustrade wearing an immaculate black tuxedo. Flanked on my left was my lead attorney, Lucas Vance, and on my right stood Annie Reed.
Annie wore an exquisite, floor-length emerald green silk gown I had commissioned for her from a top designer in Milan. Her dark hair was styled in soft, elegant waves over her shoulders, her skin glowing under the crystal chandeliers, her natural, unpretentious beauty completely outshining every socialite in the room.
Jordan and Justin—wearing miniature black tuxedos—stood beside us, happily drinking apple cider from crystal glasses, completely unbothered by the flashing press cameras.
Richard Vance walked up to our table holding a glass of champagne, his eyes scanning Annie’s emerald gown with a cold, condescending sneer.
"Arthur," Richard spoke smoothly, his voice laced with subtle venom. "An impressive turnout tonight. Though I must say, bringing your domestic staff to the primary head table is a rather... unorthodox choice for a Morrison family event."
The surrounding guests at the table went dead silent.
Annie’s hands tightened around her glass, her cheeks flushing slightly, but before she could step back, I wrapped my broad arm firmly around her waist, pulling her flush against my side.
I looked down at Richard Vance with a cold, absolute disdain that made the old corporate raider freeze in his tracks.
"Annie isn't domestic staff, Richard," I announced flatly. My deep baritone carried cleanly across the nearby tables, echoing through the silent room. "She is the woman who saved my children's lives. She is the heart of my home. And as of tonight... she is the Executive Vice Chair of the Morrison Foundation."
Richard’s jaw sagged open in total, speech-bound shock.
The surrounding corporate leaders and journalists didn't scoff. A warm, swelling murmur of approval swept through the room, followed by a sudden burst of applause from the foundation board members standing near the stage.
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Jordan looked up at Richard, holding Annie’s hand tightly in his small palm. "Miss Annie is our family, Uncle Richard. And she makes the best apple oats in the world."
A light, joyful laughter broke out from the guests as Richard turned red, turned on his heel, and slunk away into the crowd without another word.
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