I watch Adrian Pierce disappear through the ballroom doors with the calm detachment of someone who has seen this performance before. The wedding guests whisper nervously among themselves, their conversations a low buzz of speculation about Marcus Vance and what his arrival means.
Scarlett leans closer to me. "Noah, who is Marcus Vance?"
"Someone who thinks fear is more valuable than money," I reply quietly. "He's about to learn otherwise."
Through the ballroom's floor-to-ceiling windows, I can see Adrian Pierce striding across the hotel's circular driveway toward a convoy of black SUVs. Three vehicles, their windows tinted dark enough to hide their occupants. The kind of cars that announce their owners' business isn't conducted in boardrooms.
The ballroom doors swing open again. Adrian Pierce enters first, his chest puffed with renewed confidence. Behind him walks a man in his fifties with silver hair and cold eyes that survey the ballroom like a predator evaluating prey.
