The velvet lid finally lifted.

The smile on his face froze solid the instant he saw what lay inside.

The host and the secretary, standing closest on stage, saw it first.

The secretary's hand flew to her mouth, her eyes going wide as saucers.

The host's professional smile calcified into something almost comical—pure, undisguised shock.

The front rows began to see it too.

The whispers ignited like water hitting hot oil—a sharp sizzle, then a rapid spread into an uproar that could no longer be contained.

Someone adjusted the spotlight. The beam tightened, centering on the box in Dean's hands.

No check inside. No keys. Nothing of value.

Just five chicken butts.

Cleaned and cooked, they gleamed with that distinctive pale-yellow sheen of braised meat. Arranged in a perfect circle on the white silk lining at the bottom of the box.

Each one plump. Glistening with oil.