Page 10 of Black Reign

Nearly laugh.

Would you like to attend the wedding of an NBA star with a man whose real name you don't know? Black tie. Don't hack the venue.

She'd probably agree just to irritate me.

Then disappear before the ceremony.

Maybe I should hire someone instead.

Find the cheapest call girl in Manhattan.

Put her in couture.

Walk her into Haverhill's wedding purely to watch the room panic.

With the number of NBA players, professional athletes, agents, billionaire investors, and old-money families expected to be there, I'd need to perform a triple background check.

No.

Quadruple.

Possibly genetic testing.

I smile into my Scotch.

Tempting.

The fire drops lower.

Outside, wind throws itself against the windows.

Newport used to feel permanent.

Royal Oaks especially.

That place had its own gravity.

The halls.

The oak trees.

The uniforms.

The ridiculous belief that whatever happened inside those gates mattered more than everything beyond them.

For a while, maybe it did.

Now another generation walks those corridors.

New names.

New scandals.

New boys convinced they're the first ones to discover power.

Let them have it.

We passed the baton.