Part 6: The Snowflake Started To Fall
The first crystal dropped like a tear.
It hit the marble and shattered.
Then another cable shifted.
The beautiful snowflake tilted, just a few inches, but enough to send panic through the room.
People screamed.
Chairs scraped backward.
Photographers stumbled away from the stage.
Mrs. Rourke grabbed my arm. “Lucia, move.”
But I was already looking at the west suspension line.
Not the cable I had flagged yesterday.
The replacement cable was holding.
This was something else.
The decorative branch on the right side had been overloaded with extra crystal charms. I saw them now, clustered too thickly near one point, pulling the frame unevenly.
“Stop the lift!” I shouted.
The operator froze with his hand over the control.
Mr. Voss looked where I pointed.
His face went white.
“Counterweight imbalance,” he said.
The snowflake groaned.
My body moved before my fear caught up.
I ran toward the side of the stage where the manual stabilizer rope hung behind a velvet curtain. Mr. Voss had shown it to me yesterday, half joking that old systems were honest because they made you use your hands.
Genevieve screamed, “What is she doing?”
I grabbed the rope.
It burned against my palms as the frame pulled.
A worker ran to help me, then another. Mr. Voss shouted instructions. Mrs. Rourke ordered guests back. Arthur Aldridge moved surprisingly fast, blocking people from rushing toward the wrong exit.
The snowflake dipped again.
For one awful second, the whole ballroom saw what could have happened if it had fallen during the honor ceremony.
Not a scandal.
A tragedy.
My arms shook.
The rope slipped an inch.
Then someone grabbed it beside me.
Genevieve.
Her ruby gown dragged across the marble, dessert plate fragments glittering near her shoes. Her face was streaked with tears.
“I don’t know what to do,” she gasped.
“Pull when I say,” I said.
She nodded.
No argument. No insult.
Just fear.
“Now!”
We pulled together.
The frame steadied.
The workers locked the emergency brace into place. Mr. Voss limped to the control panel and gave the command to lower the snowflake the rest of the way. It sank slowly, trembling, until its metal base touched the stage platform.
The second it was safe, my knees nearly gave out.
Genevieve let go of the rope and stared at her red palms.
For the first time all night, she looked at me without trying to stand above me.
“You knew,” she whispered. “You knew how to stop it.”
I swallowed, breathing hard.
“I listened when people explained things.”
Her face crumpled.
That answer hurt her more than anger would have.
Mr. Voss examined the overloaded branch and removed three extra crystal charms.
His mouth tightened.
“These were added after final inspection.”
Helena looked sharply at Genevieve.
Genevieve shook her head. “No. I didn’t.”
Arthur stepped closer to the branch.
He picked up one loose charm.
The engraving faced outward.
ALDRIDGE LEGACY CIRCLE.
Then another.
HELENA ALDRIDGE, CEREMONY VISIONARY.
Then a third.
GENEVIEVE ALDRIDGE, FUTURE CHAIR.
Arthur turned them in his palm.
Helena whispered, “They were symbolic.”
May you like
Mr. Voss’s voice was cold.
“They nearly brought the structure down.”
