In the sterile, pressurized silence of the Iron Syndicate’s hidden sanctum, Liam Livingston didn’t let the gravity of his new title slow his survival instincts. He knew that while Wayne Wolfe might be groveling now, the Nirvana Dust he had introduced into the wine wouldn’t keep an entire battalion of the Syndicate down forever.
He moved back to the table, eyes sweeping across the remaining vintage bottles of Cabernet and scotch. He systematically uncorked four or five bottles of varying brands and, with the clinical precision of a chemist, tapped a generous portion of the Nirvana Dust into each one. A quick, vigorous shake of each bottle ensured the alchemical powder was fully dissolved, leaving the liquid indistinguishable from a high-end vintage.
“Guard!” Liam barked, his voice echoing
