The silence in the ballroom was absolute, a vacuum where the hum of a ten-billion-dollar deal had just been. Julian’s face was a mask of strained bonhomie, the smile frozen on his lips but dead in his eyes.
I stepped to the microphone. The warmth of the spotlight felt like an interrogation lamp.
“Thank you, Julian,” my voice was crystalline, carrying to the furthest corners of the room. “A beautiful speech, for a beautiful illusion.”
I turned my gaze from him, dismissing him, and fixed it on Marcus Thorne. The Atlas Corp CEO’s polite smile was beginning to curdle.
“Mr. Thorne,” I began, my tone shifting from the ceremonial to the clinical. This was the voice of a C-suite executive, not a supportive wife. “Before any ink dries on this agreement, I have a fiduciary duty to inform you of
