Chapter 6 - THE TRAP AT THE BILTMORE
The Arizona Biltmore Hotel was glowing with golden chandeliers and bustling with high-society attendees in gowns and tuxedos. Rain lashed against the glass atrium as soft piano music drifted through the crowded ballroom.
I stood near the entrance of the ballroom, wearing an elegant dark dress, hiding my trembling hands in my coat pockets. Victoria Vance stood beside me, looking sleek and professional in a black blazer, while Marcus Cole blend in quietly with the hotel security staff near the double doors.
In a private suite three miles away, Florence and Hannah were under the protection of an off-duty police officer hired by Victoria.
“He just pulled up to the valet,” Marcus whispered into his earpiece, leaning toward Victoria and me. “He’s driving fast. He looks frantic.”
“Are the plainclothes detectives in position?” Victoria asked softly.
“Two at the main entrance, two near the stage,” Marcus confirmed. “The arrest warrant for commercial fraud and child endangerment was signed by the magistrate twenty minutes ago. As soon as he steps onto that carpet, they cuff him.”
My heart pounded like a drum against my ribs. I watched the heavy oak doors of the ballroom.
Two minutes passed. Then five.
Suddenly, the side service door near the kitchen swung open.
Brandon didn't walk through the main entrance where the detectives were waiting. He knew the hotel layout—his architectural firm had renovated the ballroom two years ago.
He stepped directly into the room from the service hallway, drenched from the rain, his tuxedo jacket ruined, his eyes bloodshot and wild. He wasn't looking at the crowd. He wasn't looking at his business partners.
He was looking straight at me.
“Lauren!” his voice boomed over the soft piano music, causing several wealthy donors to turn around in surprise.
Victoria immediately stepped in front of me. “Mr. Bennett, stay where you are—”
Brandon ignored her completely, shoving past a waiter holding a tray of champagne glasses, sending crystal shattering onto the marble floor.
“You think you’re smart?” Brandon roared, pulling his wet hand out from his coat pocket. “You think you and my mother can ruin me?”
The crowd gasped and scattered in panic as Brandon held up a small, black remote detonator.
“What is that?” Marcus shouted, reaching into his jacket for his firearm, stepping between Brandon and the crowd.
“It’s the gas main override for the west wing renovation!” Brandon screamed, his voice breaking maniacally. “I designed the control grid for this building, Marcus! You press one button, the pressure valves shut off, and the backup generators catch fire! Nobody leaves this building until I get my daughter!”
Panic erupted in the ballroom. Women screamed, pushing toward the exits as hotel guests trampled over overturned chairs.
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“Brandon, stop!” I shouted, stepping out from behind Victoria, my voice cutting through the chaos. “Look at yourself! You’ve lost your mind!”
“I haven't lost anything!” Brandon sneered, his eyes locking onto mine with terrifying intensity. “You stole my child! You spied on me in my own house! Where is she, Lauren? Where is Hannah? Tell me where Florence took her, or I swear to God I’ll burn this entire facility to the ground with everyone inside!”
