#Chapter 123: Decanting the Truth

DEREK I didn’t stop for the cameras. They flared like tiny suns as I stepped out of the black SUV, their shutters clicking rapid-fire. Flashes bounced off the platinum buttons of my coat, off the trim of my collar, illuminating the sidewalk in sharp, artificial bursts. I walked straight through the chaos, ignoring the shouted questions—most about Elena, some about the Summit, one about the bottle of wine I’d ordered last time I was here. I didn’t break stride. Inside La Scala, the light changed. Dimmer. Softer. Cooler. The maître d’ smiled with studied precision. “Mr. King,” he said smoothly. “Your table is ready.” I followed him past tables lit with candlelight, past clinking glasses and murmured conversation. It was the kind of restaurant where powerful people came to be seen pretending they didn’t want to be seen. I let them see me. The table was in the back, near the floor-to-ceiling windows and a wall of rare vintages. As I settled into the leather-backed chair,