Chapter 3 - The Hidden Note
Retreating hastily to her private VIP lounge upstairs, Eleanor locked the heavy mahogany door against the noisy banquet hall.
She placed the metallic silver clutch bag and the returned cash onto the velvet-upholstered vanity table.
As her manicured fingers slid over the paper band binding the cash, she noticed a tiny piece of folded parchment tucked underneath.
Her breath hitched as she carefully unrolled the note, revealing a string of numbers and a single typed address in downtown Manhattan.
Beneath the address sat five words written in sharp, clean handwriting: “You don’t own the truth.”
Eleanor dropped the note onto the glass tabletop, her heart pounding with a sudden, unfamiliar wave of intense anxiety.
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Who was this ordinary worker in gray coveralls who dared to confront one of the most powerful women in New York City?
She opened her silver clutch, inspecting the interior zipper compartment where the money had supposedly fallen out hours ago.
