This is Thomas. He’s… between things. But he’s useful.”

Vance didn’t even look at me. He was inspecting his fingernails. “Is he, Robert? Because right now, what would be useful is a clean table. Your clumsy waiter spilled an absurdly expensive Cabernet on the mahogany.”

A dark red stain was pooling near his elbow.

“Thomas,” my father barked, venom in his voice. “Get a cloth. Clean this up. Then fetch Mr. Vance another glass. Now.”

A heavy silence fell over our corner of the room. I felt the old, cold adrenaline settle in my gut. I was a Major General. I commanded thousands of elite troops.

I’d dictated terms to warlords and briefed the Joint Chiefs. And here, in a ballroom reeking of borrowed wealth, I was being ordered to wipe up a spill to soothe a criminal’s ego.