A wave of men and women in dark windbreakers swept in, moving with synchronized efficiency, badges flashing under the chandeliers, carrying thick stacks of warrants and the cold certainty of people who knew the war was won before they breached the door.

“FBI! Nobody move! Step away from the exits and keep your hands where we can see them!”

The elite guests, who’d believed their money made them untouchable, panicked. Women screamed. A tray of champagne flutes shattered on the marble. Men in custom tuxedos shoved each other aside to get away from the Ashfords.

Victor raised both hands slowly, palms open, trying to hold onto the veneer of a titan of industry. “Officers, please. There’s some misunderstanding. I am Victor Ashford.

I have the Police Commissioner on speed dial. We can clear this up quietly.”

A woman came through the doors last, and her presence took the room. Special Agent Reeves had dark, calculating eyes that swept the crowd, lingered on Victor, dismissed Daniel entirely, and settled on me, still lying broken among the gifts.