Marcus sat at the head like a king surveying his court, basking in the compliments, taking full credit for every dish.

“I told the agency exactly what I wanted,” he lied smoothly to the CEO on his right. “A five-star experience. My wife helped execute, of course, but the vision was mine.”

I sat at the far end, silent and composed, my eyes flicking again and again to the antique grandfather clock in the corner.

8:15. 8:20.

The main course arrived — perfectly seared beef tenderloin with a red-wine reduction. The servers poured a rare Bordeaux. The room filled with the clink of silver on china, the laughter of wealthy people, and Marcus’s unchallenged arrogance at the peak of his perceived power.

8:28.