The guard didn’t even notice I was gone; he was already moving toward the stage to assist Marcus.

I squeezed past a group of frightened socialites dressed in silk and velvet.

“The evidence is already secured,” Alexander shouted, his eyes finding mine one last time in the crowd. “The truth will be public by morning.”

He was looking directly at me, telling me to run.

I turned toward the service exit behind the catering tables.

I pushed through the heavy double doors into the quiet, brightly lit corridor of the kitchen.

Behind me, the sound of Alexander’s voice was cut off as someone finally disconnected the microphone.

I heard the sounds of a physical struggle, the clatter of chairs, and Marcus shouting orders.

I ran down the service hallway, my flats squeaking against the damp linoleum.

I reached the heavy steel door at the end of the hall that led to the alley.

I pushed the panic bar, and the door swung open into the cold night air.

Rain was falling in heavy, vertical sheets, washing over the brick walls of the alleyway.