"One... two... three..."
Dr. Christian counted aloud, his smooth European accent carrying a hypnotic, almost ritualistic cadence over the silent dining hall. With each number, a heavy, viscous drop of the Amber Sleep fell from the sterilized glass dropper, splashing softly into Kakek Edward’s steaming porcelain cup of wild mountain ginseng tea.
At the far end of the thirty-foot mahogany table, shrouded in the shadows of the heavy velvet curtains, my right hand finally moved.
To the untrained eye of the socialites, board members, and corrupt relatives seated around the table, I was doing nothing out of the ordinary. I simply reached forward, my fingers brushing against the small crystal cruet of aged, highly concentrated balsamic vinegar, and the small wedge of fresh lemon that garnished
