The Sterling Foundation headquarters wasn't on campus. It was a limestone monolith in the heart of the city, directly across from City Hall. A subtle reminder of who actually ran this town.
I walked in at 9:55 AM. The [Shadow Tuxedo] was back in its garment bag, replaced by my standard "serious student" look: a charcoal blazer, a white button-down, and the exhaustion of a man who had slept three hours.
"Mr. Hart," the receptionist said before I even reached the desk. "Ms. Sterling is expecting you in the solarium."
Of course she was.
The solarium was on the roof—a glass-enclosed garden that smelled of jasmine and money. Victoria was sitting at a wrought-iron table, sipping an espresso. She wasn't wearing a ballgown today. She wore a white power suit that looked sharp enough to cut glass.
She didn't look up as I approached.
"You look tired, Jake," she said. "Long night?"
"Productive night," I corrected, sitting opposite her.
