Chapter 7

Gregory Tanner's face was a mask of pure, unadulterated panic. His career, his future, had just been annihilated in a 30-second phone call. But pride, that stubborn, foolish human instinct, made a final stand. He couldn't let them see him fall.

He picked up his phone, took a shaky breath, and turned to the expectant crowd, forcing a grotesque smile onto his lips.

"That was headquarters," he announced, his voice cracking slightly. "They... they were so impressed with how I handled this situation, with my decisive action... they've promoted me! I'm being transferred to the West Coast. A major promotion!"

The lie, so audacious and desperate, was swallowed whole by the eager crowd. A wave of relief, then applause, filled the lobby. The narrative was back on track. The good guys were winning.

Their scornful eyes turned back to Connor. He was not just a violent lunatic, but a failed one.

Jett strode forward and clapped Gregory on the shoulder, a gesture of solidarity between liars. "Congratulations, Gregory! I knew they'd see it our way. Justice prevails."

Eleonora Barlowe jabbed her cane toward Connor. "Well? What other tricks do you have up your sleeve, boy?"

Connor looked at the sea of smug, triumphant faces. He looked at Genevieve, hiding behind Jett. He looked at the fools applauding a man who had just been professionally executed.

He was done playing their game.

His voice, clear and sharp, cut through the noise. "You want the truth?"

He locked his eyes on Genevieve, pinning her in place. "The truth is that last night, my wife, Genevieve Barlowe, was with Jett Maddox."

He let that sink in, then delivered the final, devastating detail.

"In the back of my Uber."

A collective, shocked intake of breath. All eyes swiveled from Connor to Jett and Genevieve.

Genevieve's face went white. But Jett, ever the predator, reacted instantly. He threw his hands up in a gesture of pure outrage.

"Do you see?" he roared to the crowd. "This is the pathetic lashing out of a disgraced man! He's trying to drag us down with him, to tarnish Genevieve's name with his disgusting fantasies!"

He turned to the still-reeling Gregory. "Gregory, as his manager, tell them! Is this man not a known problem? Doesn't he have a history of complaints?"

Gregory saw the lifeline Jett was throwing him. He grabbed it with both hands.

"Yes! Yes, he does!" Gregory stammered, nodding vigorously. "His file is full of complaints. Harassing passengers, erratic behavior. We were going to fire him anyway!"

The "official" confirmation was all the crowd needed. The last flicker of doubt was extinguished. Connor was scum. A liar. A pervert.

Genevieve, taking her cue, burst into tears, playing the role of the falsely accused wife to perfection.

The crowd turned on Connor, their murmurs growing into a chorus of hate.

"Get out!"

"Lying piece of filth!"

"Don't let him ruin the wedding!"

Jett moved close to Connor, his voice a low, venomous whisper only he could hear. "You see, trash? In this city, reality is what I say it is. You're a ghost. Your social life, your professional life... it's over."

Connor looked at Jett's triumphant face, at the baying mob, and a strange sense of pity washed over him. They were so blind. So utterly, hopelessly blind.

Words were useless now.

As the hotel security guards closed in again, he didn't retreat. He met them. A fluid shove, a precise twist-two more guards were on the floor, groaning but not seriously injured.

He stood alone in the center of the lobby, a solitary island in a sea of hostility. He took a deep breath, ready to detonate the final bomb.

He knew what he had to say next would either shatter their world or prove to them, once and for all, that he was truly insane.