Ivan Fulton's driver arrived quickly.
Isla Prescott got in the car. As they neared the bar, Ivan Fulton called her again.
"Isabelle, when you get to the bar, find a staff member, give them Sean's name, and have them take you to the private room on the third floor."
"Whose name?"
"Shane Sterling. Sean."
"Is Sean there too?"
"He's not, but the bar is his."
Isla Prescott had long heard that Shane Sterling owned numerous businesses, but she never knew he also dabbled in nightclubs.
Nocturne Bar.
Neon lights bled through the haze. The uninhibited laughter of men and women, jazz music, and the clinking of glasses wove together into a thick tapestry of noise.
As Isla Prescott stepped through the entrance, she felt as if a world of debauchery and excess had materialized before her very eyes.
She did as Ivan Fulton had instructed, finding a staff member and giving them Shane Sterling's name to be led to the VIP room upstairs.
