Maya knew power never moved because of logic alone.

It moved because of desire, fear, and vanity—and tonight, she intended to use all three.

The private lounge on the thirty-eighth floor was dimly lit, wrapped in glass and city lights. Below, the city pulsed like a living organism, unaware of the deals being weighed above it. Maya stood by the bar, swirling amber liquid in her glass, her reflection fractured by the window.

She heard footsteps.

“Mr. Calder,” she said without turning. “You’re late.”

Victor Calder, one of the longest-standing directors on the board, stopped a few steps behind her. He was a man who liked control—over numbers, over people,...