The award ceremony was still going on.
The spotlights were still dazzling, the applause still enthusiastic.
But Leo's mind had already drifted far away.
For the next ten or so minutes, he operated like a precision machine set to a program.
Smile. Shake hands. Present the certificate. Pose for the photo. Turn.
Every action was flawlessly executed, but his eyes seemed to be looking through a layer of fog.
His mind was racing, complex diagrams of capital flow weaving together before his eyes.
If Saint Claude was really pulling strings behind the scenes, then this financial hunt targeting the Rust Belt might have started even earlier than he'd imagined.
He watched the students walk onstage to receive their awards, their faces young and excited, while his mind was busy calculating how to clean house at the Treasury Department.
He no longer had any great expectations for the day's ceremony.
Discovering one Marcus Thorne was enough to make it worthwhile.
