“We have a quiet table, and the noise here is quite loud.”

“Actually,” Vance said, looking toward table ten. “My seating has already been arranged.”

“But please, join me for a moment before the presentations begin.”

They walked together to table ten and sat down.

I watched from the shadows of my booth, barely ten feet away.

The waiter served them red wine in heavy crystal goblets.

Vivian leaned forward, her face tense and eager.

“Mr. Vance, our financial officers have prepared the final terms for the logistics merger,” she said.

She reached into her designer handbag and pulled out a small leather folder.

“We are ready to sign tonight.”

“All we need is your signature on the bridge loan agreement to stabilize our shipping lines.”

“It is a minor formality, really,” she added, trying to sound casual.

Arthur Vance took a slow sip of his wine, setting the glass down with a soft click.

“A bridge loan of forty million dollars is hardly a minor formality, Mrs. Mercer,” he said.

Vivian’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second.