The Embassy Club sat atop the highest cliff of Vellfire City's southern peninsula, a sprawling glass-and-marble monolith overlooking the grey, churning waters of the ocean. For over half a century, it had served as the exclusive sanctuary for diplomats, foreign oligarchs, and old-money aristocrats. Here, politics were dictated over rare vintage ports, and corporate empires were dismantled behind bulletproof glass and soundproof oak paneling.
At precisely three in the afternoon, a sleek, midnight-black Rolls-Royce Phantom glided smoothly up the private cobblestone driveway. The liveried valet stepped forward instantly, opening the rear door with practiced deference.
Clara Delevon-Volkskrant stepped out onto the polished stone pavement.
