The silence in the ballroom was no longer respectful; it was suffocating. Chad Dortmund stood in the center of the floor, his face a frantic shade of crimson as he paced, the phone pressed so hard against his ear it looked like it might c***k.
"Yes, Dad! Now! He’s here, he’s disrupting the entire event, and he’s using fraudulent credentials. Fifty million! It’s a scam, a digital attack—I don’t care what the host says. Bring Uncle Silas. I want this trash out of here in chains!"
Chad slammed his phone shut and turned back to Dante, who hadn't moved. The matte-black card sat on the table between them, reflecting the crystal light of the chandeliers like a dark star.
"They’re five minutes out," Chad sneered, straightening his jacket. "You enjoyed your five minutes of fame, didn't you? You
