At The Imperial Club, Port Lucis's most notorious den of excess, Thierry had booked the most luxurious top‑floor private room.
The table was crowded with open bottles of Louis XIII and vintage Krug, the air thick with smoke and the scent of expensive perfume.
I sat in Jules's car, watching the club's surveillance feed on a tablet.
Thierry's face was flushed as he raised his glass. "Everyone, drink to your heart's content tonight! Everything's on me!"
A burly business partner with a thuggish face leaned in. "Mr. Bellamy, I heard your daughter is meeting Mr. Hawthorne tonight?"
Thierry exhaled a puff of smoke smugly. "That's right. Celeste is the apple of my eye. Only she is worthy of the position of Mrs. Hawthorne. By tomorrow morning, the deed will be done. Whether he likes it or not,
