The atmosphere inside the Patek Philippe boutique was a stark departure from the gaudy, high-traffic corridors of the International Plaza. Here, the air was conditioned to a precise, cool silkiness, and the silence was broken only by the rhythmic, mechanical heartbeat of horological masterpieces. Dominic Mylod walked through the showroom with a languid, measured stride, his hands clasped behind his back. To the untrained eye, he looked like a window-shopper in over his head, but his eyes were sharp, scanning the velvet-lined displays with the clinical precision of a man who had seen the world's greatest treasures within the vaults of the Dragon Temple.
Trailing several paces behind him, Alice Gross and Ivan Cohen exchanged smirk-filled glances. To them, Dominic was a dead man walking—a co
