Nessa Clarke reached down to retrieve the fallen napkin, freezing as Ellis shifted his foot and a short chain pulled taut between his ankle cuff and the heavy chair.

The absolute peace of the Whitestone estate was an illusion maintained by constant, invisible vigilance. The bright, cinematic sunlight poured through the massive skylights of the grand atrium, entirely devoid of any dull, yellow tint. The vivid colors of the pristine marble floors gleamed flawlessly. Callum Whitestone sat in his private study, his deeply masculine frame relaxed. At thirty-five, he remained as handsome as a classic movie star, his thick, slightly wavy dark hair slicked back. His tailored dark three-piece suit was unbuttoned at the collar, revealing the elegant, negative-space tattoos on his chest. He was reviewing security files for the upcoming charity gala Nessa was hosting. The heavy oak doors clicked open, and Silas stepped inside, his American accent crisp. "Boss," Silas said, his fair skin tight with professional tension. "We have a situation. A new federal prosecutor, Elias Vance, is aggressively subpoenaing our legitimate shell companies." Callum slowly turned his head away from the window. His cold, intimidating eyes locked onto his security chief, his expression shifting instantly into a mask of pure, sociopathic calculation. "Mr. Vance," Callum murmured, his deep, raspy voice utilizing terrifying, controlled pauses. "He believes... a badge... is a shield."

"He is building a RICO case, Boss," Silas continued, handing over a thick, encrypted tablet. "He isn't taking bribes, and he isn't backing down. He has tasked a specialized strike force to raid our eastern ports by the end of the week." Callum set his crystal glass down on the mahogany desk. The polished leather of his shoes made no sound as he walked toward the center of the room. "A specialized strike force," Callum stated softly, "operates under the assumption that they have the element of surprise." He adjusted the cuffs of his tailored suit, his heavily tattooed hands moving with measured precision. "I will not have federal agents disrupting my wife's gala." "What are your orders, sir?" Silas asked. "Find out where Mr. Vance is dining tonight," Callum whispered. "And we will explain the reality of his situation." "He is at the Capital Grille downtown," Silas replied. "Then we will attend," Callum commanded. "Prepare the car."