ACE
The hotel was lavish—five stars and all that jazz—but I barely noticed the gold chandeliers or the overpriced scent wafting through the corridors. My mind was wired tight by the coming gala. Not the charity part of it, of course. That was just fluff for the press. What really mattered were the faces behind the champagne flutes—the ones who ran underground networks with the elegance of politicians and the ruthlessness of warlords.
Hope’s suite was directly across from mine.
Of course, it was my idea. Not close enough to be suspicious. Not far enough to lose track of her.
She disappeared into the room without a word, her suitcase rolling behind her, and I didn’t knock. Not yet.
Thirty minutes later, I made the call for her to be taken to a private styling suite downtown—somewhere di
