“Take him away,” Victor told the agents.

As the officers hauled a weeping Dominic Vance to his feet and marched him out of the ballroom, I looked out at the city lights through the rain-streaked glass.

The storm outside was still raging. Inside, something settled over me that I can only describe as peace.

The illusion was dead. The truth was out. And the guillotine had fallen precisely where it was meant to.

The fallout was swift and merciless.