Chapter 1 - The Silver Platter
The silver serving tray was a mirror.
It reflected the dim, warm amber of the crystal chandeliers overhead.
Clara held it with the tips of her fingers.
Her knuckles were white. The tendons in her wrists pulled tight beneath her pale skin.
She wore a crisp white button-down shirt, ironed razor-sharp at the collar.
Her black waist apron was tied in a perfect, rigid square at the small of her back.
On the tray sat a single glass of Cabernet and a tall tumbler of iced water.
The dark red liquid swayed inside the bowl of the wine glass, a slow, heavy pendulum.
Clara’s black rubber-soled shoes pressed silently into the polished oak floorboards.
She calculated her path between table four and table six.
The gap was narrow, flanked by the heavy mahogany backs of the dining chairs.
She inhaled, pulling her ribcage in, preparing to slide through the space.
At table four sat a heavy-set man.
His grey suit jacket stretched tight across his broad shoulders.
The fabric of his suit strained against the seams, thick and expensive.
A burgundy tie hung like a thick tongue against his chest.
He didn't look back. He didn't check the space behind him.
His thick fingers gripped the edges of the table.
He shoved backward.
The wooden legs of his chair scraped violently against the floor, a sharp, guttural screech that tore through the low jazz music.
The chair back slammed into Clara’s ribs.
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All the air vanished from her lungs.
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