Even with the pact in place, the day demanded attention. I spent the afternoon creating a rolling schedule for press — a controlled cadence of appearances that would let donors see our commitment in action and reduce the chance of idle photographers catching unscripted intimacies. Angel set up three community visits, keen to move narrative from scandal to service. Conley finalized the legal filings that would bring the boutique firm and its paymasters into the light.
When evening came, the mansion hummed like an orchestra that had rehearsed through a storm and found a tempo again. The staff moved with the quiet satisfaction of a job well executed. Angel and I crossed paths in the corridor and exchanged a small, almost conspiratorial smile.
“Dinner at eight?” Conley asked later, his voice
