The concierge’s voice came through strained and uneven. “Mr. Mercer, I apologize, but there’s… a situation downstairs.”
“I left strict instructions not to be disturbed.”
“Yes, sir. However, there is a convoy blocking the main entrance. Several black SUVs. Security has been instructed to let them through. The individual requesting access says he is here for his sister.”
Julian scoffed. “Camille doesn’t have family in this city.”
There was a pause.
“Sir,” the concierge continued, “the gentleman identified himself as Nathaniel Vale. CEO of Vale Consortium. And—” his voice dipped lower, “—he finalized acquisition of the Halcyon Spire at 6:17 p.m. this evening.”
The Scotch glass slipped from Julian’s hand and shattered against the marble.
He had spent years studying market movements, tracking acquisitions, reading whispers in the financial wind, and somehow he had not seen this coming.
The elevator chimed again.
The doors opened not to Camille alone but to a man who filled the doorway without raising his voice or widening his stance, a man whose suit was tailored with the kind of precision that suggests legacy rather than fashion, and behind him stood four attorneys holding slim leather portfolios like instruments.
