Arianne had three conversations she needed to finish tonight and one she needed to avoid.
The venue made the second part harder.
The barricades outside had been set in layered lines, the press packed behind them, flashes cutting irregular across the entrance. She had timed her arrival to pass through cleanly — not early enough to linger, not late enough to draw the kind of attention that came with being the last name through the door. The car stopped. She stepped out.
Lucas Rochefort followed a second later. He said little in rooms like this, which made him useful beside her.
"Left side is media-heavy."
"I see it."
She didn't look toward the cameras. When she did, it was once — acknowledgment without invitation. The flashes came anyway.
"Ms. Summers — over here —"
"Rochefort Group — are you representing the board —"
"Interim capacity," she said, already past them.
