Chapter 9 - The Meeting at the Club
An hour later, a sleek black town car sat idling in the unplowed gravel driveway of the Elmwood Terrace estate—a vehicle I had requested through an encrypted corporate account linked to my father’s old emergency reserves.
Arthur and I climbed into the warm leather interior, leaving the dusty time capsule of the old house behind. The driver didn't need directions. Arthur gave him a single, precise address: The Phoenix Metro Executive Club downtown.
It was the private sanctuary where Dayton’s elite, corrupt politicians, and high-stakes corporate fixers gathered behind mahogany doors to carve up the city’s assets.
When the car pulled up beneath the grand limestone portico of the club, the parking valet looked twice at my sensible wool coat and my canvas travel bag before opening the door. But the moment Arthur Vance stepped out onto the marble steps, leaning heavily on his cane, the valet’s expression shifted instantly into panicked deference.
“Mr. Vance... I didn't realize you were visiting this evening,” the young man stammered, holding the glass doors wide open.
“Save the pleasantries, son,” Arthur grunted, striding past him with an imperious dignity that defied his eighty years. “Where is Julian?”
“He’s... he’s in the private library on the third floor, sir. Hosting a private meeting with some associates from out of state.”
We didn't wait for an escort. Arthur and I took the private elevator straight to the third floor, the brass indicator numbers lighting up one by one in silence.
When the elevator doors slid open, we stepped out onto plush Persian carpet. Through the double glass doors of the private library, I could see Julian standing by the mahogany bar, pouring a glass of scotch while laughing with two sharply dressed men wearing expensive designer suits.
May you like
I reached out, grabbed the brass handle of the glass doors, and pushed them wide open.
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