The polished crystal chandeliers of the Grand Drake Hotel cast cold, sharp beams across four hundred guests in bespoke suits and evening gowns.
Clara adjusted the collar of her plain blue blazer, holding a worn brown leather folder tightly against her chest.
Victoria Sterling took a slow sip of vintage champagne and blocked Clara's path with a dismissive smirk.
Victoria: "Who allowed an underpaid clinic worker past the lobby security checkpoints?"
Clara: "The charitable foundation board granted me five minutes on the floor to explain why our West Side clinic needs its operational grant renewed."
Victoria: "Look at your worn shoes and discount department store clothes, sweetie. You belong in a church soup kitchen, not inside a ballroom with Chicago's real wealth."
Clara: "We treated four hundred displaced foster kids last month alone, Miss Sterling. Illness doesn't care about designer labels or bank accounts."
Victoria picked up a tall glass of ice water from a passing silver serving tray.
Victoria: "You people think you can wave guilt in our faces and walk out with checks."
Before Clara could step aside, Victoria tilted her wrist and poured the chilled glass straight down the front of Clara's cotton blouse.
The sudden freeze took Clara's breath away, sending ice cubes clattering onto the marble floor as several guests gasped in shock.
Victoria: "Now take your wet application papers and leave this hotel before I have private security escort you to the street."
Clara kept her head high, using her fingers to brush away the melting ice, which pushed her damp lapel aside.
Pinned beneath the wet fabric, an antique platinum crest with three engraved stars and a falcon caught the bright ballroom chandeliers.
At the center table, an elderly man in a dark tailored tuxedo pushed his wheelchair forward with sudden, desperate urgency.
Arthur: "Victoria, step back right now! Do not touch that young woman!"
Victoria turned around with an irritated laugh, adjusting the diamond bracelet around her slender wrist.
Victoria: "Grandfather, she was making a scene and begging for donations. I was just resolving the issue."
Arthur: "Quiet! Not another word from you tonight, Victoria."
Arthur Sterling rolled his chair to a halt directly in front of Clara, his hands trembling violently as he reached out toward her collar.
Arthur: "Where did you get that crest? Tell me this exact second, child."
Clara: "It belonged to my father, sir. It's the only keepsake my mother left behind when she passed away."
Arthur stared at the microscopic serial numbers stamped along the falcon's wing, his face losing every trace of color as his breathing became ragged and shallow.