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.

"No! Edric! No!" Ottilia screamed as Silas seized her by the upper arms, hauling her roughly out of the chair. Her heels dragged across the polished hardwood, leaving scuff marks on the wax. "You can't do this! The family won't allow it! The Commission will hear about this!"

Silas reached down to the gift table, scooped up the black lace veil, and stuffed it into her open clutch before twisting her arms behind her back. Within thirty seconds, her muffled shrieks faded down the service corridor, cut short by the heavy thud of an exterior iron door slamming shut.

The eighty guests remained frozen against the walls, terrified to breathe, terrified to look the patriarch in the eyes.

Edric turned to face them. He adjusted his starched white cuffs, smoothed the peaked lapels of his suit jacket, and lifted a clean champagne flute from a passing waiter’s silver tray.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Edric announced, his American accent clear, authoritative, and perfectly modulated. "I apologize for the interruption to our festivities. Family disputes are unfortunate, but they must be handled with precision."

No one spoke. Senator Vance swallowed hard, nodding in robotic agreement.

"The bar will remain open for another hour," Edric continued, his voice carrying effortlessly to every corner of the room. "The catering staff will serve the prime rib. You will enjoy the evening, you will drink my wine, and when you leave tonight, you will remember that the Whitburn family remains entirely unified under my direction. Isn't that correct, Senator?"

Senator Vance cleared his throat, forcing a wide, deferential smile. "Absolutely, Edric. A magnificent party. We wouldn't dream of saying otherwise."

"Good," Edric said. He set the glass down untouched on the table. "Enjoy your dinner."

He turned to Fleur, who was watching him with wide, serious eyes. "Come here, baby."

He scooped her up into his left arm, letting her rest her chin on his broad shoulder. Fleur wrapped her small arms tightly around his neck, her cheek pressing into the fine wool of his collar.

"Daddy?" she whispered into his ear.

"Yes, little bird?"

"Is the bad car going away now?"

"The bomb squad is taking it away, sweetheart," Edric murmured, patting her back. "We’re going to ride in the blue truck with Silas."

"I like the blue truck," Fleur said, her eyelids already drooping with the heavy, sudden exhaustion that follows terror. "It has the big tires."

Edric walked through the double doors leading into his private office suite at the back of the club.

Agent Cole was already inside, leaning against the mahogany desk, reviewing documents on an encrypted tablet.

"Cole," Edric said, closing the heavy oak door behind him, sealing out the noise of the ballroom.

"Edric," the agent replied without looking up. "Teterboro is secure. Lucian’s plane was intercepted on the taxiway. He had three million in bearer bonds and a forged Costa Rican passport in his briefcase. He’s currently in holding at the federal building in Newark."