Shattered Mask

CHAPTER 11

THE THRESHOLD OF POWER

The night air had grown biting, a sharp wind whipping through the concrete canyons of Manhattan, but the Smith family refused to move. They stood huddled on the public sidewalk, just inches from their car, their eyes fixed on the entrance, waiting for the new heir to walk in any moment from now

They were a pathetic sight. 

Linda’s hair, usually a stiff helmet of perfection, was beginning to fray. 

Robert was frantically scrubbing at the oil stain on his sleeve with a cocktail napkin, and Leslie stood shivering. 

Her eyes were fixed on the revolving glass doors of the Rothwell Plaza like a gambler waiting for a final spin of the wheel.

“He has to come through here,” Robert muttered, his teeth chattering. 

“The Master of Ceremonies said the Heir was on his way. There is only one VIP entrance. We wait, we intercept him, and we tell him that his inner circle… Harnes and that bastard Jack… are conspiring to ruin his reputation.” He said

“He will listen,” Linda insisted, her voice tight with a desperate, manic hope. 

“Wealthy men hate being lied to by their subordinates. When we tell him Jack is a common repairman using his company car to assault people, the Heir will have no choice but to clean house. He will see us as the whistleblowers. The allies, then he will get rid of Jack and Harnes.”

Leslie nodded, clutching her arms. “He will realise we are his kind of people. Not like Jack.” She added

They stood there for ten minutes, ignored by the arriving glitterati who stepped out of their town cars and glided past the "trash" on the sidewalk. To the elite, the Smiths were now just another part of the city’s background noise, no different from the steam rising from the manholes.

Then, the heavy door of the Rolls-Royce Phantom clicked open.

Jack stepped out. He didn’t look like he had just been humiliated. He didn't look like a man who had just watched his ex-wife’s family be dragged through the dirt. 

He adjusted his driver’s cap, the silver Rothwell insignia catching the light, and began to walk toward the entrance with a steady and rhythmic movement, as if mocking the Smiths.

“Look at him,” Leslie hissed. 

“The nerve. He is probably going to park the car and try to sneak into the kitchen for leftovers.”

As Jack reached the edge of the pavement, he stopped. 

He looked at the three of them … the ruined CEO, the blacklisted caterer, and the unfaithful wife … and a slow, mocking smile spread across his face.

“Still here?” Jack asked. 

His voice was calm and conversational, which only made the insult sting more. 

“The pavement is a bit harder than the marble inside, isn't it?” He teased

“Shut up, Jack,” Robert snarled, stepping forward until a security guard’s shadow fell over him from the corner

He retreated instantly. 

“Enjoy your little uniform while it lasts. We are waiting for your boss. 

And when he gets here, your little charade is over. 

You will be lucky if he doesn’t sue you into a debtor's prison.” Robert threatened him

Jack chuckled. 

He checked the watch on his wrist, a simple, rugged piece that looked out of place against the luxury surrounding him.

“I would have loved to stay and chat about my charade, Robert, but I am actually needed inside,” Jack said. 

He tilted his head toward the grand entrance, where the red carpet began. 

“The gala is starting, and the guest of honour shouldn't be late.”

Linda let out a sharp, ugly laugh. 

“Needed inside? For what? To polish the silverware? To mop the floors after the real guests leave?. Go on, that is what you are made of."

“It is funny, isn’t it?” Jack said, ignoring her venom. 

He took a step closer to the line, his eyes locking onto Leslie’s. 

“You all spent four years telling me I was a nobody. You called yourselves ‘big people’. You talked about contracts, legacies, and power as if they were birthrights. And yet…”

He gestured to the grand doors behind him and then to the cold, dark street where they stood.

“...Here I am, a ‘lowly driver’, invited into the inner sanctum. And there you are, the ‘big people’, standing in the gutter, shivering in the dark. 

It seems the Rothwells have very specific tastes when it comes to who they let through their doors. And apparently, they prefer a repairman over a fraud.” Jack fired at them

“You are nothing but a servant!” Leslie screamed, her voice cracking. 

“They are using you. You are just a tool to them.”

“Maybe,” Jack said, his voice turning ice-cold. 

“But at least I am a tool that is inside the house. You are just the dirt being swept off the porch.”

He turned his back on them, an act of supreme indifference that hurt more than a physical blow.

“Wait!” Robert shouted, reaching out, but the security guards stepped forward, their faces like stone. 

“You think you’ve won? You are just a fluke, ”He cursed after him

Jack didn't stop. 

He walked up the red carpet, his boots clicking with a steady, military precision. 

As he approached the glass doors, the guards… the same ones who had handled the Smiths with such violence… snapped to attention. 

They didn't just open the doors for him; they bowed their heads in a synchronised gesture of absolute deference.

The Smiths watched in stunned silence.

“Why are they bowing?” Linda whispered, her voice trembling. “He is just a driver. Why are they bowing to a driver?”

“He must have stolen the Chairman’s VIP pass,” Robert muttered, though even he didn't sound like he believed it anymore. 

“He’s tricking them. He has to be.”

Jack paused at the base of the grand staircase. He turned back one last time, looking through the glass at the three silhouettes huddled on the sidewalk. He didn't wave. He didn't sneer. He simply adjusted his cap, gave a small, mocking tip of the brim, and disappeared into the golden light of the ballroom.

“He is going in,” Leslie breathed, her heart sinking into her stomach. 

“He is actually going in.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Linda snapped, grabbing Leslie’s arm so hard it left a mark. 

“The Heir is still coming. This just proves how deep the corruption goes. When the Heir arrives and sees his driver rubbing elbows with the guests, he will be even more furious. We stay. We wait. We win.”

But as the minutes ticked by and the music from the ballroom swelled loudly, the cold began to seep into their bones. 

Every car that pulled up was searched, every guest vetted, but the "Mystery Heir" never seemed to arrive via the front entrance.

The Smiths stood in the shadows, their eyes burning with spite and envy. 

They were convinced that at any moment, a motorcade would arrive, a king would step out, and they would be saved. 

“Just you wait, Jack,” Leslie whispered into the wind, her fingers turning blue. “When the real power gets here, you are going to realise just how small you really are.”

She had no idea that the real power had already walked past her, and he hadn't even bothered to look back.