Celeste pointed toward Nora. “She put her hands on me.”
Marcus nodded. “And multiple guests are describing what happened immediately before that.”
“They are describing a performance.”
The woman in the wheelchair let out a small, tired breath.
Nora looked at her.
“May I say something?” she asked.
Marcus nodded.
The woman folded her hands over the blanket on her lap. “I asked for water. Ms. Varrone ignored me. I asked again. She told me not to interrupt. When I asked a third time, she raised her hand close enough to my face that this young woman believed she was about to strike me.”
Celeste’s mouth opened.
“I did not—”
“You may explain your intention later,” the woman said. “I am describing my experience.”
The distinction seemed to unsettle Celeste more than an accusation would have.
Marcus looked toward two venue security staff who had arrived near the ballroom entrance.
“We have cameras covering the north service corridor and most of this section,” he said. “We can review them.”
Celeste went still.
That was the first moment Nora understood Celeste did not merely hate witnesses. She feared records.
“I am not staying here while you treat me like a criminal,” Celeste said.
“No one called you a criminal,” Marcus replied.
“Then tell them to move.” She gestured toward security.
“They are here because there was a physical confrontation.”
“There was no confrontation until she grabbed me.”
The elderly woman’s voice stayed calm. “There was a confrontation long before anyone touched you.”
A low murmur moved across the ballroom.
Celeste looked around as if betrayal had become contagious.
For years, Nora had watched wealthy guests move through rooms like this one with absolute confidence that service workers would absorb whatever mood came their way. Most guests were kind. Some were distracted. A few were cruel because cruelty cost them nothing.
Celeste had simply made the mistake of assuming the price would always be paid by someone else.
Marcus asked Nora to remain on paid break while the venue reviewed the footage and took statements. He made a point of saying paid.
Celeste heard him.
“That’s ridiculous,” she snapped. “Fire her.”
Marcus’s expression changed.
“No.”
The word seemed to shock everyone, including Nora.
“I said fire her.”
“You do not employ her.”
“I can make one phone call.”
“Then make it after security finishes taking your statement.”
Celeste stared at him.
Nora nearly laughed from pure disbelief.
Instead, she followed another supervisor into the service hallway.
The moment the ballroom doors closed behind her, her knees weakened.
She leaned against a stainless-steel prep table.
“You okay?” the supervisor asked.
“No.”
It was the first completely honest thing she had said all night.
He handed her a bottle of water.
Nora looked at it and started laughing.
The laugh came out wrong, too sharp and close to tears.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
She twisted off the cap and drank.
