“We will settle this tomorrow morning,” he muttered, turning his back on me to return to his guests.

I walked away from the main floor, navigating the edge of the crowd until I reached the service corridor behind the stage.

The security guards at the backstage door had worked for my family for a decade; they nodded and stepped aside without asking for my credentials.

I took the stairs up to the AV projection booth, which overlooked the entire glittering ballroom.

Inside, a young technician named Marcus sat in front of a massive digital soundboard, his face illuminated by the blue glow of three monitors.

He looked up in surprise as the door clicked open.

“Mrs. Harlan,” he said, standing up. “I didn’t think you were coming tonight.”

“Marcus, I need to make a quick adjustment to the introductory video,” I said, pulling a second USB drive from my clutch.

“The cue sheet is locked, ma’am,” he said, rubbing his neck nervously. “Mr. Harlan’s assistant personally signed off on the media reel an hour ago.”