The sound of shattering glass echoed down the pristine, marble-tiled corridor of the Mercer Plaza Hotel’s VIP wing.

Harper paused, her hand hovering over the stainless-steel handle of the walk-in refrigerator. She was supposed to be doing a final inventory check of the dry-aged beef for the summit

The ambient roar of the industrial kitchen was a symphony Harper Quinn had once conducted with her eyes closed. Tonight, the clatter of stainless steel, the violent hiss of searing wagyu, and the frantic shouts of the line cooks were muted on her left side, a permanent ghost of her time in prison. B

The ballroom buzzed with the intoxicating energy of unchecked wealth and anticipation. Hundreds of crystal glasses clinked as the waiters flawlessly executed the synchronized service of the first course.

Seated at the center of the head table, Harper stared down at the delicate porcelain plate in