Fleur stood frozen as her aunt Ottilia stripped away her paper crown, draped a lace mourning veil over her face, and cruelly sneered that she should practice crying because her daddy’s funeral was next.

"Audited?" Sterling echoed, his back hitting the brass push-bar of the service door. "You don't audit me, Edric! The city council oversees the waterfront logistics contracts, not you! If you touch a hair on my head, the federal task force will have twenty search warrants on your shipping terminals by midnight!"

"The federal task force won't do a damn thing, Arthur," Edric said, his dress shoes clicking methodically against the floor. "Because the special agent in charge of that task force is currently sitting at Table Four, drinking my single malt."

At Table Four, Special Agent Marcus Cole set down his crystal tumbler.

The federal agent, forty-eight years old and immaculate in a dark dinner jacket, wiped his lips with a linen napkin. He didn't look at Sterling; he looked at Edric with an unreadable, clinical stare.

"Is that true, Marcus?" Sterling gasped, horror dawning across his features. "You’re in his pocket? You swore an oath to the Department of Justice!"

"I swore an oath to eliminate violent cartels, Arthur," Cole said, his American accent flat and dry. "And according to the audio recording Mr. Whitburn forwarded to my private server twenty minutes ago, you just authorized the detonation of high-grade military explosives inside a municipal country club. That makes you an enemy combatant, not a city official."

Sterling’s mouth fell open. "You... you knew? Before tonight?"

"I gave you two weeks to back out, Arthur," Edric said, stopping four feet from the councilman. "I knew about the Bahamian escrow account on Tuesday. I knew about the meeting at the marina on Thursday. I wanted to see if my sister had the stomach to put a bomb under her own niece."

Ottilia dragged herself up from the chair, leaning heavily against the armrest, her hair tangled across her shoulders. "She isn't my niece! She’s a street rat's bastard! You think because you put a gold ring on her mother’s finger before she bled out in Chicago that this child has Whitburn blood? She’s an outsider, Edric!"

Fleur peeked out from behind Edric’s leg, her little face pale. "Daddy... why is Aunt Ottilia yelling at me?"

"Because she’s frightened, baby," Edric answered softly, never breaking his stare with Sterling. "And frightened people make a lot of noise."

He looked back at the councilman. "Arthur. Who provided the C-4?"

"I don't know!" Sterling yelled, sweat pouring down his temples, soaking his collar. "Lucian handled the procurement! He said he had connections with the private defense contractors in Virginia! I just signed the zoning permits for the transfer depot!"

"Where is Lucian?" Edric asked.

"He... he wasn't coming tonight," Sterling stammered. "He said he had a private charter out of Teterboro at ten o'clock. He’s probably on the runway right now!"

"Call him," Edric ordered.

"He won't answer me!"

"Call him, Arthur," Edric said, his right hand slipping inside his tailored three-piece jacket. He didn't draw the weapon, but the outline of the heavy automatic beneath the charcoal wool was unmistakable. "Put it on speaker. Tell him the car detonated on schedule, and you need the confirmation codes for the offshore transfer."

Sterling fumbled frantically inside his tuxedo jacket, pulling out a slim smartphone with hands that shook so violently he dropped it once before catching it against his stomach.