When Greg Sterling received Liam Thorne’s call, he was in the middle of a high-stakes networking session at The Lexington Club.
The Lexington is a notorious haunt in Yorkville for the city's power brokers—a place where memberships are inherited and the scotch costs more than a monthly mortgage in the Midwest.
After hanging up, Greg stepped back into the mahogany-paneled private room to say his goodbyes to a group of developers who were halfway through a third bottle of Macallan.
"Oh, come on, Greg," a portly man in a pinstripe suit groaned. "You’re the lifeblood of our financing. If you leave, the party's dead."
"Duty calls, Marcus," Greg chuckled, adjusting his silk tie. "My wife is quite insistent on my return tonight, and you know how it is—happy wife, happy life." He raised a final
