Chapter 9 - The Manhattan Penthouse
The contrast between the silent, cavernous library of Blackwood Manor and the eighty-fifth floor of the Sterling Vanguard Tower was jarring. The penthouse was a cathedral of floor-to-ceiling glass, brushed steel, and minimalist luxury, overlooking the glittering, neon-lit grid of Midtown Manhattan.
Victoria stood in the center of the private elevator, wearing a tailored black modern trench coat that Elena had provided. Despite the contemporary attire, she still radiated the severe, chilling elegance of an ancient executioner. She held her silver stylus like a concealed weapon.
"The gala is happening in the main ballroom down the hall," Elena whispered as the elevator pinged softly and the chrome doors slid open. "He’s hosting his annual charity dinner. Three hundred of New York's elite—politicians, CEOs, celebrities. All of them unwitting shareholders in his life-harvesting scheme."
"A room full of collateral," Victoria noted coldly, stepping out into the dimly lit corridor. She could smell it immediately—the sickening, sickly-sweet scent of stolen vitality hanging in the air conditioning system. "He is using their greed to mask his own energetic signature."
As they reached the heavy double doors of the ballroom, two massive security guards in tactical suits stepped into their path. "Invitation only," one grunted, reaching for Elena’s arm.
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Victoria didn't even slow her stride. She casually brushed her fingers against the guard's shoulder. "Sleep," she murmured.
Time warped locally around the two men. Their eyes rolled back, and they collapsed onto the thick carpet in synchronized silence, their biological clocks paused until Victoria decided otherwise. She pushed open the ballroom doors, her amber eyes scanning the crowd for Entry #001.
