Gasps spread through the crowd.
It was Victoria.
Eight years younger.
Smiling.
Holding a newborn baby in her arms.
“No…” Victoria whispered again.
Her hands began to shake violently.
The boy stared at her.
“My mama kept it.”
Victoria looked up slowly.
“My mother died three days ago,” he said.
Silence.
“Before she died… she told me to find you.”
Tears filled Victoria’s eyes.
The crowd had stopped recording.
Nobody cared about the gala anymore.
Nobody cared about money.
Then the boy said quietly:
“She also said something else.”
Victoria looked terrified.
“What?”
The boy swallowed.
“She said…”
“Ask her why she ran the night of the fire.”
Victoria suddenly stopped breathing.
Because standing near the back of the crowd—
A man in a black suit had just dropped his champagne glass.
