The stretched Rolls-Royce Phantom glided to a silent, predatory halt at the end of the crimson carpet. The air around the entrance seemed to chill as the vehicle’s Presence dominated the space.
Jason Zane didn't wait for the valet. He practically sprinted toward the car, his face split into a grin of such profound sycophancy that it looked painful. He reached for the handle with a flourish, bowing low as the heavy door swung open.
Spencer Hunt stepped out into the blinding morning light. He was dressed in a pristine white tuxedo that contrasted sharply with his sallow, decadent complexion. Despite the hour, his eyes were bloodshot, and he carried the faint, sickly scent of expensive gin and high-grade narcotics. Beside him, Emily Zane emerged, a vision in matching white silk. She moved w
