“The lux levels on stage left are fluctuating by at least fifteen percent, Marcus. If my daughter loses her focus because the lighting technician is incompetent, I will personally ensure this theater is converted into a parking lot by Monday morning.”

Lucian Aldridge stood in the middle of the aisle of the prestigious Mazi Conservatory, his arms crossed over a charcoal-grey suit that cost more than the grand piano on stage. His eyes, sharp and predatory, were fixed on a terrified young man holding a clipboard.

“Sir, the lighting is standard for a Grade 2 recital,” the coordinator stammered, his voice trembling under Lucian’s amber gaze. “We have used these...