The courier bowed again and hurried back out through the sliding glass doors into the humid coastal air.

Mr. Han slid a silver letter opener through the seal and pulled out a single sheet of heavy parchment.

He scanned the page, his eyes moving quickly behind his spectacles.

“The Mercers’ logistics company is in worse shape than we estimated,” Mr. Han said softly.

“They defaulted on their primary warehouse leases this morning.”

“If Arthur Vance does not sign the funding agreement tonight, their creditors will seize their remaining trucks by Monday.”

I looked out the glass doors at the gray waves crashing against the stone seawall.

“Then Vivian is playing her very last card,” I said.

“Yes, Ms. Arden,” Mr. Han replied. “She believes the Vance Group is her salvation.”

“Let her believe it for a little while longer,” I said, watching the salt spray rise against the glass.

“Go prepare the ballroom.”

By eight o’clock, the storm clouds had cleared, leaving a dark, starless sky over Lotus Bay.

The grand ballroom was filled with the sound of a string quartet and the clinking of crystal glasses.