I helped Daisy down from the carriage and then looked around. Rows of polished motorcars glinted under the glow of the property’s lamps. Chauffeurs stood in neat uniforms. There was a large turnout of people who must have taken hours to get ready. Guests arrived in twos and threes.They were brushed with the finest skin creams and glowed like aliens dipped in otherworldly sparkle, their shimmering gowns catching light like tiny stars.
The inside was packed with servants who collected coats from the professionals, who were decades older than me. I had no idea who they were, but Gatsby’s connections had come out in droves to witness the arrangement between Daisy and Jay and likely to see what Gatsby’s mansion looked like on the inside.
People of all ages and races were brought here by the openness of this man. Some artists in colorful clothes with untamed hair studied the art on Gatsby’s walls. Poor folks made reasonable efforts to blend in among the elites and had pulled out their best suits for the night. Gatsby had even employed some of the boys of Blue House to work the event. I spotted Zihan pouringchampagne in a guest’s glass alongside a servant.
I wandered around and landed at one of the refreshment tables. I admired the tiered trays of cakes and inhaled the freshly shaved cheese for the crackers. Rich ladies stood fanning themselves and looking around like they had somewhere better to be.
There was an undercurrent of quiet competition, as they peeped around at the other ladies’ outfits, eyes murky with barely concealed judgments. They watched a white man take a Colored woman upstairs where there was privacy and whispered about it to each other.
I realized a moment too late that Jay had appeared at my side, checking his watch for the time. “Almost there,” he whispered to me.
“Almost where?”
“Confetti explosion, of course.”
Seemingly at his command, a big explosion of confetti burst from blasters around the ceiling. Jay laughed and the people looked up at it, surprised by the twisting pieces of color that filled the air. Some covered their glasses with their hands; others raised them.
Daisy scurried out of a side room, laughing at the confetti as if the biggest robbery in the history of this peninsula was not going to happen tonight.
Once the confetti settled, Jay whispered, “Incoming,” and faded into the crowd of people.
I saw what he meant a moment later. Straight ahead, Charlie Buchanan was stuffing his face with a pastry and walking in mydirection. “I’m sorry about what you saw at lunch,” Charlie said, his mouth full. “My father is not usually like that. I believe it’s because he was stressed on that day.”
“He lost his temper,” I said. “Let’s let it blow over.”
“Thank you, Nick,” Charlie said, looking a little surprised. “My father only wants to make this city better. I hope you’ll accept that.”
“Of course.” It was so easy to be nice when you had tricks up your sleeve.
“And I’m sorry about the fire too.” At first, I didn’t know if I heard what IknewI heard. And before I could even process it, Charlie kept going. “I thought it was a dramatic step. Others did not.”
“Others? What others?”
“A lot of people didn’t like the idea of a fully integrated New York. I say this because... if it was you who sent us that threatening letter, know that my father will stop at nothing to kill his enemies. You might think he has more empathy than he does! I don’t want that to happen to you. Don’t try anything. If you must think of exposing my father, talk to me instead.”
“I have no idea what letter you’re talking about,” I lied. I couldn’t help adding, “But you know who did it? The fire?” None of this made any sense. Everything I knew pointed to the Buchanans ordering the fire, but here Charlie was, ready to admit his father was not above murder to keep his reputation yet shoving the blame for the arson aside.
“Of course, everyone in the White House dorm knew it wouldhappen, including someone very close to you.” Charlie raised his eyebrows like he knew something I didn’t.
“How is this possible? Who else from White House would have reason to do so?”
“Shmoozing gives you privileges you couldn’t even imagine.”
Shmoozing? Who was shmoozing?
Mr. Gatsby’s amplified voice reverbed through the house, announcing, “I would like to propose a toast. To my son and his new fiancée, Daisy Whitley... soon to be Daisy Gatsby!”
I walked out to the living room and found him standing on the makeshift stage installed for the party.
Charlie followed me and whispered, “I hope you’ll understand it’s for the best that whites and Coloreds stay separate.” He pulled away from me and smiled, patting me on the back in a fake show of support. “Be well, Nick!”
I was so horribly nauseous from the stress. All this running around looking for the arsonist, thinking I had pieced together the story of this crime, and Charlie claimed he had information on the culprit the whole time that he was willing to give. Were the Buchanans even involved?
I walked around the party, mind filling with doubt, zeroing in on every white person under the age of twenty, examining their face for some sort of guilt.
I found Artie Botts with Stu Miller—an engineer from the White House who graduated to be a fitness model. Artie was twirling a lock of hair around his finger as he talked to the boy.
“Artie! How are you?” I shouted.
