I left them with their nanny and drove toward the downtown hotel hosting the gala.

The valet at the Anatole took my keys with a polite nod.

The ballroom was already filled with the scent of expensive perfume, white roses, and prime rib.

Crystal chandeliers hung from the high ceilings, casting sharp, glittering light over hundreds of guests.

Men in tailored tuxedos and women in designer gowns stood in tight circles, clutching champagne flutes.

Marcus met me near the entrance, holding a leather-bound folder against his chest.

“Everything is set, Ms. Vance,” he said quietly.

In the business world, I had always used my maiden name, Vance.

“The Ralstons arrived fifteen minutes ago,” Marcus continued, guiding me toward the VIP entrance. “They were assigned to Table Forty-Two.”

“Directly in front of the dais,” I noted.

“Yes, ma’am. They look quite pleased with the seating, though they don’t know why they’re there yet.”

I nodded and walked into the grand ballroom.

The mayor of Dallas was already seated at the head table, talking to a prominent developer.

I took my seat at the center of the long, elevated table.