I picked up my mug of black coffee and walked away from the long table.

I crossed the dark Persian rug and sat down in the high-backed armchair by the floor-to-ceiling window that looked out over the black, mist-covered water of Lake Anne.

Outside on the lakefront lawn, the automatic floodlights flickered once and went completely dark.

I sat alone in the corner of the room, sipping my hot black coffee while thirty guests stared at me in awkward, total silence.

At eighteen minutes past six in the morning, the kitchen was cold.