The grandfather clock in Maxwell Thorne's private study chimed midnight as three black sedans pulled through the iron gates of his sprawling manor. Shadows moved across the manicured lawn as security guards checked each vehicle before waving them toward the main house.
Maxwell stood at his office window, watching the arrivals with grim satisfaction. Getting all four chamber leaders together on such short notice had required considerable effort. But desperate times called for desperate measures.
"Sir, your guests have arrived," announced his butler from the doorway.
"Show them to the study. And ensure we're not disturbed."
"Of course, sir."
Maxwell adjusted his tie and moved to position himself behind his massive oak desk. The study's leather-bound books and expensive artwork projected an image of established power and refinement. Tonight, he needed every advantage.
