"What is going on here?" Clement asked the instant he stepped into the living room where the butler had said the police were waiting.
Before entering, he had carefully centered his breathing, forcing the panic clawing at his chest to recede.
He had calmed the trembling in his hands, talked himself down from spiraling fear, and coached his mind back into coolheadedness, into sharp, calculating thought and measured speech.
There was no need to reveal his fear, he had decided.
Fear was weakness, and weakness was an invitation—a silent permission for the police to puff up, grow bold, and approach him without restraint.
He was Clement Aldo. A man of standing. A man of power. A man with respectable connections: connections who paid generously within the state's police department to keep matters smooth, quiet, and favorable.
