The atmosphere within the Montgomery Estate had shifted from professional negotiation to something far more predatory. The air was thick with the scent of expensive cigars and the palpable desperation of a dying dynasty. Dame Beatrice sat at the head of the long mahogany table, her face a mask of aging granite, her eyes narrowing as she looked at the mountain of a man sitting across from her.
"Grandmaster Holt," Dame Beatrice began, her voice low and dangerous, "I assume that was some sort of crude attempt at a joke? We are here to discuss a ten percent equity transfer, not a transaction involving my granddaughter’s person."
Dominic Holt didn't flinch. Instead, he leaned back, the chair groaning under his massive frame, and let out a cold, sharp laugh. "Do I look like a man who flies pri
