The Obsidian Club didn’t have a sign. It didn’t have a listed address, and if you didn't already know that the heavy, unmarked iron door in the alleyway behind San Francisco's financial district was the entrance, you had no business knocking.

Clara Vance stepped out of her Uber, the damp fog of th

The morning sun filtered through the sheer curtains of the Vance estate, casting long, elegant shadows across the imported Italian marble floors. Clara Vance sat at the kitchen island, a picture of domestic tranquility in her cashmere cardigan and soft linen trousers. To any outside observer, she wa

Four days later, the illusion of Julian Vance’s invincibility shattered in the middle of Clara’s living room.

It was a Tuesday afternoon. Clara was curled up on the plush velvet sofa, calmly reading a book on advanced algorithmic theory hidden behind a dust jacket for a romance novel. The house wa