People whispered behind their champagne flutes. I spotted Derek and Brittany standing near the center of the room. Derek was wearing a tailored tuxedo, trying to look relaxed, but the dark circles under his eyes betrayed his mounting terror. Brittany clung to his arm, looking incredibly out of place among Seattle’s elite.
But they were not my primary targets tonight. I scanned the room and locked eyes on Barbara. She was holding court near the main bar, surrounded by three of the most prominent, wealthy investors in her social circle. These were the men who funded Derek’s firm, the men whose portfolios he had been secretly draining.
I glided across the ballroom floor. People naturally parted to let me through. I approached Barbara’s circle just as she was delivering a tearful, fabricated story about my supposedly erratic behavior. When she saw me standing there, the color completely drained from her face.
Her jaw clamped shut. Good evening, Barbara, I said, my voice pleasant, carrying perfectly over the soft jazz music playing in the background. I hope you do not mind my intrusion. I felt it was important to support the community, especially given the recent turbulence at Derek’s firm.
The three wealthy investors turned to look at me, their curiosity peaked by the sudden, suffocating tension. One of the men, a real estate mogul I recognized from Derek’s client files, politely asked if the rumors about the federal raid were just a misunderstanding. Barbara opened her mouth to deploy a practiced lie, but I cut her off with surgical precision. It is quite the misunderstanding, I stated, turning my attention directly to the investor.
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