The thunderstorm battering Zenith City was even worse in the northern hills. Rain lashed against the reinforced windows of the Vance Family Estate like handfuls of gravel.
Inside his mahogany-paneled study, Arthur Vance was unfazed by the weather.
He sat in a high-backed leather chair, swirling a glass of fifty-year-old scotch. A rare, genuine smile stretched across his exhausted face. The fire roaring in the hearth cast dancing shadows across the room.
"Any minute now," Arthur murmured, taking a slow, satisfied sip.
Standing by the door was his Head Butler, an elderly man who had served the Vance family for forty years.
"Patriarch," the butler said softly. "Are you certain the Shadow Syndicate will succeed? The VIP at the auction had a Supreme Black Card. If he survives and traces th
