Then I let go.
The conversation continues. Morrison launches into what I can only describe as a sales pitch. Making himself sound indispensable. Talking about his connections, his influence, his vision for Illinois.
The subtext is clear. He's trying to shift the power dynamic. Make it seem like he's doing us a favor by taking our money instead of the other way around.
Maksim lets him talk. Patient. Controlled. Waiting for the opening.
It comes when Morrison leans back in his chair, champagne in hand, and says with calculated casualness: "I have to admit, Severyn, I did some research before this meeting. Your background is... interesting."
"How so?" Maksim's voice is flat.
"Russian origins. Self-made man. Very impressive." Morrison's smile doesn't reach his eyes. "Though I have to wonder how an association with you will be beneficial. Our worlds are quite different, after all."
The insult is wrapped in politeness, but it lands clearly. Morrison questioning Maksim's legitimacy. Implying he's not good enough for these circles.
I see Maksim's jaw tighten. See the calculation in his eyes as he decides how to respond.
"Mr. Morrison," he says, voice dropping into ice. "I can kick a rock and find a dozen politicians like you underneath it. What you should be wondering is what you can do for me if I choose to make your political career possible."
The temperature in the room drops ten degrees.
Morrison's smile falters. He wasn't expecting directness. Wasn't prepared for someone to call his bluff.
Before the situation can deteriorate further, Victoria speaks.
"Gentlemen." Her voice carries warmth and reason in equal measure. "I think we're all aware of what's at stake here. Mr. Morrison needs funding for a campaign that will be expensive and brutal. The Severyns need political allies who understand that certain industries require... flexibility in regulation."
She looks between them, her expression open and diplomatic.
"You both benefit from this arrangement. So perhaps we can move past the posturing and discuss specifics?"
The tension doesn't disappear, but it shifts. Becomes manageable.
Morrison clears his throat. Maksim's expression smooths back into neutrality.
They begin to negotiate. Numbers. Expectations. Terms of the alliance.
I watch Victoria facilitate the discussion, guiding them away from friction points, highlighting areas of agreement. She's brilliant at this. Natural. Like she's been brokering deals between powerful men her entire life.
By the time lunch concludes, they've reached an understanding. The Severyns will fund Morrison's campaign. Morrison will remember who owns him when he's sitting in the Senate.
Morrison stands, adjusting his jacket. "We should watch the polo match. It's about to start. I have excellent seats near the field."
Maksim's expression suggests he'd rather do anything else, but he nods. "Of course."
"Actually," Victoria says, "I think I'd prefer to watch from the balcony. Better view."
Maksim catches my eye. A silent communication passes between us.
Stay with her. Keep her safe.
I nod once.
Maksim and Morrison head toward the field level. Victoria and I move to the private balcony attached to the suite.
The balcony is small. Intimate. With walls that provide privacy from the ground below. Sunlight reflects off white fencessurrounding the field. The breeze carries the clean smell of grass and horses.
We stand side by side, watching riders position themselves for the match.
