Adrien has chosen the seat across from me.Alicia Morgan, the woman who contacted us on behalf of the senator, has taken her rightful place at the head of the conference room table, with the senator on her right and Hudson on her left.Noah, my colleague, is between me and Hudson, and there’s a noticeable empty chair between the senator and Adrien on the other side of the conference room table.
Flashes of the yacht spark unbidden.His hands in my hair.The way I slipped out at dawn, expecting to never see him again.It’s been years since I unwittingly searched for him in crowds.And here he sits across a conference table like Monaco never happened.
In the periphery of my conscience I hear them moving on from introductions and discussing the project overview.Yes, the senator has been blackmailed.Yes, there’s video and photographs.We haven’t been able to trace the package delivery.
None of this is news to Adrien, either.He’s been briefed as well.But why is he here?Did I miss that relevant piece of information?
“He received an additional threat via messenger yesterday,” Alicia says, handing us each our own copy of the message.She passes a folder to Hudson Stone, my boss.“The original is inside the envelope, should you wish to have it evaluated for fingerprints, but I expect we’re dealing with professionals and don’t believe you’ll find anything.”
“Any more photographs?”Adrien asks after briefly reading the message.
I study the note.
Senator Crawford?—
The Perimeter Defense Oversight Amendment will be reviewed Monday, January 19.Vote against it.If you vote for this amendment, we release the attached file to theWashington Post.
In addition, wire $250,000 as our consulting fee.Instructions to follow.
Thank you for your attention to this matter.
“What was attached?”Adrien asks, and I can’t help but wonder why he’s taking charge.Is it his personality or is he vested?
“A listing of Senator Crawford’s expenses, including membership dues, at The Sanctuary over the past eighteen months, plus additional photographs,” Alicia answers.
The senator straightens, voice tightening with defiance.“My wife and I had an open marriage.Every encounter was consensual, all well above legal age.If this is the best they have, I could tell them to publish it.”He exhales.“But with an election looming, I’d rather avoid spectacle.And if they’re targeting me, they’re targeting others.This isn’t only my problem.”
Adrien’s glance slices toward me before he addresses the room.“I’ve reviewed the other photographs and video.All were taken at The Sanctuary.Our policies forbid recording of any kind.Only an employee could have circumvented them.Privacy is paramount.To protect it, I’ll cover investigation expenses.You’ll have access to the New York property as needed, but for discretion, visits must occur when the club is closed—or under a cover story.”
His gaze lingers on me as he says it, deliberate, pointed.
“How many employees are based in New York?”Hudson asks, but what I want to know is what does Adrien d’Avricourt have to do with The Sanctuary?It’s a gentleman’s club and rumors have always swirled around the activities that go on in private chambers.
“At any given time we have between seventy to eighty employees on payroll.Keep in mind we have an onsite restaurant, three bars, a cleaning crew, and a security team.”
He owns the club.Of course he does.The man who showed me real kindness now runs the kind of place where powerful men pay for discretion.
If I recall correctly, the club maintains locations around the world, including Shanghai, London, Paris, and San Francisco.But fashion and fragrance are the domains of the d’Avricourts.I suppose an illicit playground fits the brand image.What’s the business tag line I’ve seen in the occasional ad?Only the Lovely.
When did he acquire it?After we met?
He sounds calm.But I know what lies beneath calm.His clipped answers aren’t arrogance—they’re distress, reined in.
“Can you get me an employee list?Names, address, and social media accounts,” Hudson asks.
“Yes, I will.I hate to think it’s an employee, but I’ve racked my brain and don’t see how it could be anyone else.”
“You mentioned security?Did you outsource any part of it?Technical aspects?Servers?”
“I bought the club three years ago.”
Ah, that’s why I was unaware of Adrien’s connection to The Sanctuary.It’s been nearly three and a half years since the weekend with Adrien.
“The system was already set up.”He leans into his right arm, resting on the armrest of the chair, thoughtful.“Let’s hope this leak doesn’t date that far back.”He straightens and adds, “We do maintain video surveillance on site.It’s active, nothing is recorded.Or at least, nothing is supposed to be.”He casts an apologetic glance at the senator.“The surveillance is aimed at ensuring our guests’ safety.Ensuring that nothing gets out of hand, that no one brings someone in of questionable age.”Addressing the room, he continues, “We are a true gentleman’s club.Consent is required at all times and is only accepted from those legally able to provide consent.I assume you’d like to review our system.We’re closed on Monday and Tuesday.There’s no staff on site on Monday, so that would be the best day for you to visit.On Tuesday, staff come and go in preparation for the week.In-office staff works Tuesday to Saturday.”
“Is your video surveillance online?”Hudson asks.“Could it be hacked?”
“No.It’s closed circuit.”His lips press together, and a casual observer might read him as angry, but I sense he’s distraught.“If you discover it’s someone outside of my business, I’ll be greatly relieved, but I don’t think that’s the case.”He fingers his copy of the threat that’s lying on the table.“And that $250,000.That’s paying someone, right?Isn’t that how this kind of extortion works?”
