Victor entered the estate and moved through the crowd unnoticed. Tonight was no ordinary gathering, it was a pre-celebration dinner for a deal Lord Hartwell was pitching to foreign investors. And Victor had made sure to arrive uninvited.
At the heart of the estate, white tables sparkled with silverware and crystal wine glasses. Laughter echoed from cigar corners. Business moguls toasted. Senators nodded.
Then came Tape, parading like royalty.
Dressed in a velvet suit two sizes too big, sunglasses on at night, Tape basked in the attention. Servants bowed to him, and je baskets in the attention.
Lily wasn't far behind, wearing a beep she'd stolen from a child's gift bag, sipping from everyone's champagne and calling it a "truth serum."
When Victor turned, he came first to first with his ex-wife, Vera, her arm looped around Lincoln, her lover. LOrd Hartwell and Madame Hartwell trailed behind.
"What's he doing here?" Vera hissed.
Lincoln chuckled. "This isn't a soup kitchen."
Victor remained calm. "Just came to see some old friends."
Lord Hartwell scoffed. "You mean the ones who remember you as a janitor? How nostalgic."
Vera added with a twisted grin, "I almost didn't recognize you without the mop."
Victor said nothing. He let them laugh. He let them perform.
Their mockery echoed through the garden, but it was quickly drowned by the arrival of another guest, Darnell.
Victor's eyes locked with him. Darnell, his former colleague from the elite security division, froze mid-step. He hasn't heard from him since the night of the murder.
He approached him. "Darnell," Victor said quietly.
"Victor?" Darnell's tone was equal parts confusion and panic. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"Same thing as you, surviving."
Before Darnell could add anymore word, Victor led him toward the bar. "Let's drink to old times."
"Loosen up," Victor said, his voice smooth, steady. "Like the old days at the office, remember?"
Darnell forced a laugh and raised the half filled glass. They clicked the glasses, and Victor nodded to the bartender for another round. Then another.
As the amber liquor flowed, Darnell's restraint melted. His voice grew looser and sloppier, he was beginning to see double, men now moved like trees.
"You ever think it's all rigged?" he muttered, gaze glazed over. "You ever think… some people are born with power, and the rest of us… just pretend to protect them?"
Victor leaned in. "You still with the Senator's unit?"
Darnell blinked slowly, then chuckled. "I was. But now? I've been promoted."
"Promoted?"
"Yes. You ever think about the old days, Vic?" Darnell slurred, swirling his glass. "Back when we were just nobodies in security, walking perimeters and busting smugglers for chump change?"
Victor nodded silently. His eyes were alert, but his expression was cool. "Yeah. Simpler times."
Darnell laughed, dry, hollow. "Simpler… sure. But deadlier. Especially if you poked the wrong bear."
Victor leaned forward. "You talking about Klayton?"
Darnell chuckled, drunkenly. "You ever seen a man alive one day, and then, boom, minutes later, it's all over the news that he is dead? Doesn't sit right, does it?"
"He was scared, Vic. That last week, he was acting different an paranoid. Started double-checking doors, whispering on calls, carrying a pistol in his jacket. Said he 'knew too much'."
"Knew too much about what?"
Darnell gave a slow, crooked smile. "Big people. Big secrets. People with the power to erase you in a press release."
Victor's blood ran cold.
Darnell jaw tightened. "He kept a file. Said it had names, deals, everything. Told me he made a copy and hid it somewhere. Next day, he's dead, they said you killed him."
A lump caught in Victor's throat.
Darnell swirled the glass and emptied the contents into his mouth. "I shouldn't even be talking to you. But, hell, these powerful people, half of them fund black ops with dinner party money."
Victor leaned closer. "This consignment tomorrow … does it have anything to do with all this?"
Darnell blinked hard, almost sobering up at the question. "I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to."
Darnell exhaled slowly. "Just stay out of it, Vic. Whatever Klayton was tangled in… it's still alive."
And then he passed out, head slumping to the side like a collapsed national grid. The alcohol had knocked him dead.
Before Victor could process the implications, a soft, familiar voice interrupted him.
"Always working, aren't you?"
He turned sharply, it was Isabella. Dressed in a blue gown that bounced the garden light.
"What are you doing here?" Victor asked, caught off guard.
Isabella took a step closer. "I should ask you the same."
"You're always just… showing up," he muttered.
She smiled tightly. "Maybe because I cared enough to heal you from cancer. You let me believe you cared, then ran off with Kate. The golden heiress." She said.
Victor swallowed hard.
She stepped even closer, their faces inches apart. "Victor, I know who you really are and I should expose you," she whispered. "Let everyone know the poor janitor is really the ghost billionaire with blood in his hands."
"I didn't kill Klayton," Victor said, barely audible.
"But no one knows that, do they?... except me." Isabella threatened. "I''ll deal with you, Victor!"
And with that, she turned and made her exit leaving a confused Victor, who is torned between running after her and holding his ground.
From across the garden, Vera watched. She stood near Lincoln, but her eyes were fixed on Victor and Isabella. She didn't like the way Isabella had leaned in.
Victor moved like a shadow, avoiding guards and sidestepping familiar faces. He wasn't supposed to be here. He knew two of the house security had recognized him earlier and slipped away. Time was running out.
From the ballroom, he heard Vera's familiar laugh, forced and shrill.
He turned back and saw her clinging to Lincoln, parading him like a treasured artifact. Lincoln was wearing an overpriced tuxedo that didn't quite fit. Vera leaned in and whispered something to him, and both turned to look directly at Victor, laughing.