Prodigal Son

Chapter 14

On the top floor of the Queen Consolidated building, the formal ballroom was packed with round tables draped in flowing white cloths and topped with glittering place settings circled around artistically shaped, leafy centerpieces. When dinner was served, the room would be filled to capacity, but for now, most guests lingered in one of two places, the wide corridors where the silent auction was being held or out on the rooftop terrace that currently overlooked a sunset vista of Starling City.

The official purpose of the gala was to raise money for the Queen Foundation and to honor the start of the Robert Queen Memorial Initiative, but for the elite, it was their current excuse to be seen and to be seen with all the most interesting people. Tonight, despite the athletes from the city's favorite teams, the Mayor, industry leaders, and all the local on-air personalities mingling with the crowd, Oliver understood he topped the list. Society hadn't yet decided if he should be forgiven for his perceived past, but famous or infamous, at tonight's gala, he was the topic that wagged every tongue.

He was putting up with the need to impress and titillate donors for one major reason. Tonight, Walter Steele was supposed to finally be back in town. Oliver intended to get as much information about his father's book as he could from his father's former best friend. Unfortunately, Steele's plane had been delayed, though his mother assured him Walter would be there by the time dinner was served.

In the meantime, Oliver had been giving the people what they wanted, including a very awkward interview before the gala with Channel 52's very own Bethany Snow. She hadn't directly asked him if he killed his father, but she resurrected headlines from eight years ago that had. His mother assured him it was a puff piece and he of course dismissed the rumors, but until the evening news aired, they wouldn't know for certain what angle they'd take.

In the two weeks since he returned to Starling, he'd managed to keep a low profile, but all eyes were on him tonight. He walked off the elevator two hours ago and he hadn't stopped smiling, shaking hands and posing for pictures. All evening people sidestepped directly bringing up his past while dropping what they thought were obscure hints about the topic.

They were not.

But Oliver kept smiling.

The flashing cameras and the choking clouds of heavy perfume added to his growing headache. And his glass was empty. He was ready for a break.

He scoured the room looking for Felicity. He knew she was there; he'd caught sight of her several times as he worked the room, but a steady parade of past acquaintances and "dear friends" of his mother and father kept him from getting closer. Determined, he put his head down and headed to the bar. There, he ordered a whisky, neat, and then snagged a flute of Champagne from one of the many trays circulating the room.

Carrying two drinks, he avoiding having to stop and shake any eagerly thrust out hands and regretfully (yeah right) excused himself on his mission to deliver the second drink. He usually told people it was for his mother. He found most hesitated to thwart Moira Queen even on something so insignificant

He spotted Thea across the room. Her flawless makeup hid the red, puffy, tear stained face he'd last seen. Her hair was fully styled, something more than waves but less than curls. Dress code was black tie, but Thea rejected anything floor length for a short, shimmering, burgundy wrap with thin spaghetti straps that criss-crossed across her open back. For the night, she'd taken off her foot brace, eschewing heels for flat, rhinestone studded, open-toe sandals. The look was young, flirty and every bit the young heiress ready to take on the world. Thea carried herself with a confidence that would have made their father proud.