The way he'd been invisible at Mercer's warehouse.
"VIP room is on four," Ghost murmured through the earpiece. "Mercer should head up in about twenty minutes. The device is in your vest pocket. Plant it under the conference table, there's a seam where the legs meet the surface. Magnetic mount. Five seconds."
"Copy," Seth said quietly, refilling a guest's glass with a smile that cost him nothing.
The twenty minutes passed like hours. Seth moved through the ballroom, tray balanced, eyes tracking Mercer's orbit through the crowd. He watched the man accept a crystal award for Humanitarian of the Year. Watched him give a speech about the dignity of human life that made Seth's vision go white at the edges.
"…and every dollar raised tonight goes directly to the fight against exploitation in our city. "
Seth's hand tightened on the tray. The glasses trembled.
Zain's hand found the small of his back. Brief. Grounding. Then gone.
"Focus," Zain murmured.
Seth breathed. Refocused.
Mercer finished his speech. Applause. Handshakes. A slow migration toward the elevators.
"He's moving," Ghost said. "Seth, you're up."
Seth set down the tray. Straightened his vest. Walked to the service elevator with the calm, purposeful stride of a man who belonged exactly where he was going.
The VIP room was smaller than he'd expected. Warm-toned, luxurious; a room where decisions were made over scotch and sealed with handshakes. Conference table in the center, leather chairs, a bar along one wall. Two security guards flanked the entrance, private, as Ghost had said. They glanced at Seth's catering uniform and waved him through.
Invisible.
Seth moved to the bar. Began arranging bottles and glasses with practiced efficiency, a skill he'd picked up years ago, one of the many jobs that had kept him alive before the warehouse. While his hands worked, his eyes scanned the table.
There. The seam where the table's center support met the surface. Perfect.
He dropped a napkin. Bent to pick it up. His hand found the device in his vest pocket, small, magnetic, barely the size of a coin. He pressed it into the seam under the table and felt the magnet catch.
Five seconds. Done.
"Device is live," Ghost whispered. "Signal's strong. Beautiful."
Seth stood. Continued arranging the bar. His heart was hammering but his hands were steady, a trick he'd learned from Zain, or maybe a trick he'd always known and had just needed someone to remind him of.
Mercer entered the room.
And looked directly at Seth.
Time stopped.
Those pale blue eyes moved over Seth's face with the casual assessment of a man who evaluated people the way an investor evaluated assets. There was no recognition, why would there be? Mercer had never visited the warehouse floor. Had never seen the faces of the people who generated his profits.
But Seth had seen his face. On the wall of the temp agency. In the gala photos. In his nightmares, where Mercer's smile was the mask that cruelty wore when it wanted to look civilized.
"Scotch," Mercer said. "Neat."
Seth poured. Handed it over. Their fingers didn't touch.
"Thank you," Mercer said, already turning away to greet his real guests. Dismissed.Invisible.
Seth stood behind the bar and poured drinks for the men who funded human trafficking and smiled when they said thank you and felt the cold thing in his stomach crystallize into something sharp and patient and absolutely certain.
He was going to help bring this man down.
