The location is deliberate.
No flags. No signage. No visible security.
Just a converted estate overlooking a lake so still it looks artificial, the kind of calm that exists only where chaos has already been accounted for.
I arrive alone.
Not because they asked me to—but because I know Seraphina would expect it.
Inside, the air smells faintly of cedar and polish. Old money. Old intelligence. The kind of place where decisions are made quietly and consequences echo for decades.
Three people are waiting.
Two men. One woman.
They don’t stand when I enter.
That’s the first test.
“Mr. Sterling,” the woman says, smiling as if we’ve met before. “Thank you for accepting the invitation.”
I take the empty chair opposite them without comment. “You didn’t give me much of a choice.”
“No,” she
