Someone asked where Julian’s wife was.
Julian did not hesitate.
“Clarissa prefers quiet evenings,” he said with a polished smile. “Public life overwhelms her.”
Chloe squeezed his arm.
A woman nearby arched one eyebrow.
“Is that so?”
Before Julian could answer, the lights near the ballroom entrance shifted.
The murmurs began quietly at first.
Then spread.
Arthur Vance had arrived.
Even people who had never met my father knew him. Not because he chased attention, but because attention followed power. He was tall, silver-haired, and broad-shouldered, dressed in a black tuxedo with no ornament except a watch worth more than most cars in the valet line.
He entered without hurry.
That was the thing about true power. It never needed to rush.
Apex Group’s chairman abandoned a conversation mid-sentence and crossed the room to greet him.
“Arthur! We weren’t sure you would make it.”
My father accepted the handshake.
