The penthouse apartment overlooking Lake Geneva was a temple of human excess. The Alps were framed like a painting by floor-to-ceiling windows. The smell was polished marble, exotic orchids, and old money. Kael, in the role of "Dr. Anton Reinhardt," a reclusive Swiss-German philanthropist, felt the sterility of the surroundings as a physical tension. It was the antithesis of the living, breathing rock of Lupus Haven.
His host was Nikolai Volkov, a shipping magnate whose wealth had only grown during the global crisis. Volkov was a large man, with a booming smile that never quite reached his chilly, calculating eyes. He was playing the role of the benign benefactor to perfection, pouring expensive whiskey and speaking in smooth, cultured tones of his desire to "heal the world."
"The work y
