I sat in the back of a yellow cab, watching the yellow headlights smear across the wet window.

My phone sat in my lap, dark and silent.

I had spent the entire day reviewing the press releases and the guest list for the Sterling-sponsored art auction.

Everything looked perfect on paper.

Too perfect.

The cab pulled up to the grand entrance of the Plaza Hotel.

Doormen in red coats held large umbrellas, shielding the wealthy guests as they stepped out of black town cars.

I paid the driver and stepped out into the damp, cold air.

The smell of wet asphalt mingled with the expensive perfumes of the women walking ahead of me.

I walked through the revolving doors and entered the lobby.

The warmth of the building hit me instantly, along with the low, buzzing hum of hundreds of voices.

The Grand Ballroom was a sea of black ties and glittering evening gowns.

Huge floral arrangements of white lilies and orchids stood on marble pedestals around the room.

In the center, a massive ice sculpture of a dolphin slowly melted into a silver basin.