I go straight to the bar. White wine. Something to hold, something to do with my hands while I work.
“Sauvignon Blanc,” I tell the bartender.
While he pours, I pull out my phone. Pretend to check a text. Actually open my notes app.
Morrison - City Council Pres - by windows Brennan - Port Authority - red faced, drinking heavy Ward leaders NE - Marcus’s base? Ashford portrait - grandfather - 1962-1978
Evidence. I’m here for evidence. Even if I don’t know what it will prove yet.
“You’re new.”
The voice comes from my left. Emerald suit. Natural hair in a perfect twist. She stands at the bar with the kind of presence that commands space without demanding it.
I know her from the news. Former Speaker of the Pennsylvania House of Representatives, Alaina Dupree.
“Madame Speaker.”
“Just Alaina.” She extends her hand. Firm shake. “And you’re the famous Dylan Wells.”
Famous. The word lands wrong.
“Marcus mentioned you.” Something flickers in her expression. Gone before I can identify it. “His... date for the evening.”
The pause before date is deliberate. A door opening. An invitation to correct her.
“I’m here representing Draven & Associates,” I say carefully.
“Of course.” She takes her whiskey from the bartender. Neat whiskey, no water. Studies me over the rim. “First fundraiser?”
“First of Marcus’s events, yes.”
“These second-Friday fundraisers are tradition now. Three years running.” She pauses, and the pause has weight. “They can be... overwhelming.”
Three years. I file that away.
“I’m finding my footing.”
“I noticed.” She turns to face the room, standing beside me. Casual. Two professional women surveying the landscape.
But I notice how she’s positioned her body between me and the rest of the ballroom.
“Would you like a tour?” Alaina asks. “These things are easier with a guide.”
“I wouldn’t want to impose?—”
“Nonsense.” She links her arm through mine. Light. Friendly. Protective. “Besides, you look like someone who knows how to listen.”
She guides me into the crowd. Smooth. Natural. Like we’ve known each other for years.
“James Morrison,” she says quietly, indicating the loud man by the windows. “City Council President. Owns half the construction contracts in the city through shell LLCs.” Her voice drops lower. “Very generous after his fifth drink. Signs anything. Marcus knows this.”
I add it to my mental file. Fifth drink. Signs anything.
“Tommy Brennan there—Port Authority. Lost his wife last year. Sudden. Tragic.” Another pause. Longer this time. “Marcus helped with the funeral expenses.”
“That was kind of him.”
“Marcus is very kind.” Alaina’s voice goes flat. “When it serves him.”
