The private dining room at the 'Aurelian', a restaurant known for its prohibitive prices and discreet service, glittered with the soft reflection of crystal and polished mahogany. A long table was laden with untouched expensive plates and half-empty bottles of vintage Bordeaux.
The air was thick with the scent of fine wine, smoked salmon, and self-satisfaction. Congressman Vance, a man whose face was perpetually flushed with power and indignation, raised a heavy glass of amber liquid.
"To an inconvenience swiftly and permanently removed," Vance declared, his voice booming slightly louder than was appropriate for the setting. He was nearing the point of being thoroughly inebriated, his tie slightly askew.
Around the table, the other influential men—including the ancient, hawk-faced Vincent Halbert and the sharp, nervous Prosecutor Carter—cheered, clinking their glasses.
