Chapter 7 - The Unspoken Allegiance
Silas lowered his hands, clasping them loosely in front of his waist.
"Then ask your father what this is," Silas said, his voice deep, calm, and carrying a quiet resonance that vibrated through the floorboards.
Marcus stared at the dark ring sitting on the table. His brow furrowed in confusion, not recognizing the plain piece of metal. But behind him, throughout the far corners of the ballroom, a sudden, heavy shift occurred.
At Table One, an eighty-two-year-old billionaire shipping magnate who had not bowed to any government official in thirty years slowly pushed his chair back. His hands trembled as he stood up, placing his palm over his heart.
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At Table Two, three retired supreme court justices and two former heads of state quietly lowered their heads and rose to their feet in unison.
One by one, every older guest in the room—the true shadow power brokers who held the financial, political, and underworld strings of the entire Eastern Seaboard—stood up from their seats. They did not look at Marcus. They did not look at Celeste. Their eyes were fixed entirely on the black iron ring, and their faces were filled with an ancient, absolute reverence.
