Chapter 2 Friday, 12 June 2026 #3
Ami followed Hannah’s gaze to the lectern, where Madison and Elle stood side by side. ‘You’re offering yourself up like a sacrificial lamb to Elle Harrington and Madison DuPont?’
Hannah sighed. ‘Hopefully not. But I need to clear the air.’
‘Good luck.’ With a shrug, Ami retreated into the lounge. Hannah tactically made her way to the front of the library, then waited. When Madison had finished her conversation with one of their former classmates, Hannah stepped reluctantly forward.
‘Madison—’ she began, but Madison and Elle turned to give her twin death glares. This was going well already.
‘About the article,’ Hannah began again. ‘The timing was unfortunate, but I had—’
‘Do you hear someone talking?’ Elle asked. ‘I swear, there’s the most awful drone in my ears.’
Madison turned to Elle, placing her back squarely to Hannah. She’d been dismissed.
‘I’m headed to the ladies’,’ Madison murmured. ‘Haven’t had a moment to myself since Henry’s fundraiser. I need to freshen up.’
‘Want me to come with?’ Elle asked.
‘No, I’ll just be a minute.’ She took a sip of her drink. ‘Meet you back at the bar? After I finish this one, I’m going to need another.’
Without a second glance towards Hannah, Madison exited the library and walked down the corridor in the direction of the restrooms, martini glass in hand.
Well, that couldn’t have gone better. Refusing to let the slight get under her skin, Hannah gave Elle a broad smile then wandered into the dining room, where servers in single-breasted jackets, crisp cotton shirts and pressed trousers were arranging thin slivers of shaved truffle on tiny amuse bouche plates and rearranging name cards to account for no-shows or last-minute joiners.
It smelled of clean linen and white peonies, which had been arranged tastefully on the larger tables and the room’s two oak sideboards.
She began circling tables, searching for her name card, prepared to surreptitiously move it if she’d been seated with Elle, or, worse, Henry.
The lights in the dining room flickered, and Hannah halted before the cards for Mr Albert Thornton and Mrs Blythe Thornton, class of 1957.
She looked to the grand gold and Murano-glass chandelier above.
It blinked again, and then the entire club was plunged into darkness.
A few surprised yelps came from the lounge, and beside Hannah, a woman stumbled into a table and sent a water glass careening to the hardwood floor with a smash.
It was ten to eight in June, and still broad daylight outside, but heavy curtains were permanently drawn across the Lenox Club’s front windows, in keeping with the club’s motto, Privacy, preserved.
It was private all right – and pitch black.
Hannah grasped for the back of a chair, thrown off-balance.
Somewhere to her left, another chair crashed to the floor.
‘What the hell is going on?’ someone muttered.
‘Is it a blackout?’ came another voice.
‘Try the curtains,’ someone suggested. ‘Are the lights out on the rest of the block?’
For what must have only been ninety seconds, two minutes at most, the club descended into chaos.
Guests tripping, drinks spilling. Bash called for everyone to calm down, but no one paid him any mind.
Just as someone – a staff member, Hannah assumed, not that she could see who was talking – made an announcement about an emergency generator somewhere in the basement, the lights returned.
Hannah blinked. ‘That was… entertaining,’ she observed to no one in particular.
The woman who had spilled the water glass gave Hannah an unamused glance, then resumed brushing off her gown.
All around, the Lenox Club staff sprang into action, mopping spilled drinks and righting tipped chairs.
In the lounge, a vase of flowers had careened to the floor, and a bartender rushed to replace it.
Suddenly, a sharp scream pierced the club. Hannah stiffened.
A second scream followed, then a series of gasps.
‘What the hell?’ Hannah muttered.
‘In here!’ someone shouted from the direction of the lounge. ‘Help!’
There was a surge of movement, and Hannah followed the others through the wide arch towards the commotion.
A woman’s voice shouted, ‘Everyone, stay back!’
Hannah pushed forward. ‘Excuse me,’ she murmured, shouldering her way through the crowd. All around, people jostled for a better view, or retreated, stunned looks on their faces.
‘I think she’s…’
‘Is there a medic?’
‘Goddamnit, where are our phones?’
When Hannah reached the front of the crowd, the sight before her knocked the air from her lungs.
In the corridor leading from the lounge to the restrooms, Madison DuPont lay on the dark, ornate carpet, soft peach silk billowing out around her.
Her eyes had rolled back in her head, and a thin trail of vomit ran from the corner of her mouth, down her chin.
One pale arm lay outstretched, her fingertips pointing towards the empty martini glass that had rolled, just slightly, out of her grasp.
There was no need for a medic.
Madison DuPont was very, very dead.