Chapter 20 Jameson's Return

• The rain had a way of painting New York in grayscale—soft and shadowed, like an old photograph on the verge of fading. The streets shone under the slick sheen of drizzle, headlights refracted in endless colors, red and gold and violet bleeding across the sidewalks. Milady stepped out of the car, the collar of her black trench coat turned up against the cold. Her heels struck the marble steps of the old Mayfield Hotel like a declaration.
• Jameson McAllistor had chosen neutral ground, a place with a history too grand to be touched by petty politics, but not so public that someone might notice their meeting. The hotel bar was nearly empty, gilded with old-world glamour, the crystal chandeliers still glowing like echoes of wealth long since passed. He sat in a booth near the back, beneath an oil painting of some nameless dynasty.
• She saw him before he saw her.