The car door slid shut with a loud thud that felt like it sealed me away from the chaos outside.

The voices of reporters outside were muffled, camera lights still flashing through the tinted glass.

The reception ended in a blur of fizzling champagne, and polite smiles. I barely tasted the food nor remembered half the faces that congratulated me. But what I did notice were some of the guests that stood out.

Old men in tailored suits, surrounded by silent bodyguards. I assume they were some politicians I don’t recognize, or foreign investors based on the heaviness of their aura. I wondered how Arlo, or rather, the Frantz family,...