Chapter 8 - The Gala Ended
Lorraine looked at Catherine with pure hatred.
“You planned this.”
Catherine nodded.
“Yes.”
The honesty stunned her.
“You planned to humiliate your sister.”
“No,” Catherine said. “I planned to let her speak first.”
The room understood that.
Paige had spoken.
Lorraine had spoken.
Richard had spoken.
Every one of them had been given room to choose decency.
Every one of them had chosen exactly as Catherine expected.
That was why the reversal felt less like a trap and more like a mirror.
Mara walked to Catherine and looked at her cheek.
“Do you need medical attention?”
The question broke something small and tender in Catherine.
Not because the scratches were severe.
They were not.
Because finally, someone looked at the injury before the scandal.
Catherine swallowed.
“Not emergency.”
“We’ll document it.”
Lorraine scoffed.
Mara turned.
“Thank you for admitting contact in a room full of witnesses.”
Lorraine’s mouth closed.
Richard’s attorney lowered his head.
Paige whispered, “This can’t be happening.”
Catherine looked at her.
“It already happened. You just weren’t the one being erased, so you didn’t notice.”
That was the end of Paige’s gala.
Not officially.
The caterers still stood near the walls.
The flowers still perfumed the room.
The chandeliers still burned above all that cream and gold.
But the celebration had left the building.
People began moving quietly toward exits.
Donors gathered in tense knots.
The event photographer stopped shooting.
The band packed up without being asked.
Paige stood near the stage, green sequins catching the projector glow, looking suddenly like a child wearing victory clothes too large for her.
Lorraine tried to grab Richard’s arm.
He pulled away.
That mattered.
Not to Catherine anymore.
But it mattered as proof that even loyalty built on favoritism cracks when liability enters the room.
Catherine closed the portfolio.
She did not reveal every page.
Not there.
Not for entertainment.
Mara had warned her about that too.
“Expose enough to stop the theft. Save the rest for the process.”
So Catherine saved the rest.
The sealed documents stayed sealed.
The photographs stayed partly hidden.
The full record remained with counsel, institutions, and boards that could not dismiss it as a scene.
As Catherine walked toward the ballroom exit, Paige called after her.
“Cat.”
Catherine stopped.
The nickname hit an old place.
Summer afternoons.
Sisters before competition became religion.
Paige stealing Catherine’s sweaters and giving them back with gum in the pocket.
Paige teaching Catherine how to curl lashes before ninth-grade pictures.
Paige holding Catherine’s hand during a thunderstorm when they were little.
Then Paige learning that being favored required keeping Catherine low.
Catherine turned.
Paige’s face was streaked with tears now.
“I needed this.”
Catherine looked at her sister for a long time.
Then said, “So did I.”
She left.
Outside the country club, the night air was cool against the scratches on her face.
Catherine stood beneath the portico, portfolio in one arm, remote still in her hand.
For the first time all evening, she began to shake.
Mara came out behind her and draped a black coat over Catherine’s shoulders.
“You did well.”
Catherine laughed once.
“I got scratched by my mother in front of half of Connecticut.”
“Yes,” Mara said. “And still controlled the room better than your father.”
Catherine looked toward the dark golf course beyond the drive.
“Does it always feel this awful?”
“Winning?”
“Yes.”
Mara considered that.
“When the people you beat were supposed to love you? Usually.”
Catherine closed her eyes.
May you like
She hated that answer.
She needed it too.
