The guard reached me first, his broad frame blocking the light from the chandelier.

“Miss Bennett,” the guard said, his voice low and flat. “You need to come with me.”

“I was just leaving,” I said, keeping my voice even.

Marcus arrived a second later, smelling of expensive scotch and cedarwood.

He stopped two feet away, looking down at me through his silver-rimmed glasses.

“Clara,” Marcus said, his voice carrying a false warmth that didn’t reach his eyes. “You’re a long way from the administrative pool.”

“It’s a public event, Mr. Reed,” I said.

“Not for you,” Marcus said. “And certainly not with what you have in your bag.”

He flicked his fingers, a small gesture toward the guard.

The guard stepped closer, his hand locking onto my left forearm with a grip like a iron vise.

The pain was sharp and sudden.

“Let go of me,” I said, trying to pull back without drawing the attention of the nearby investors.

“We can do this quietly in the back office,” Marcus said, his eyes scanning my bag. “Or we can have the police drag you out for commercial espionage. Your choice.”