By the time we descended the marble staircase at 3:00 PM, the energy in the mansion had shifted from a lazy poolside afternoon to a high-octane film set. Evelyn hadn't cut corners. She had mobilized a professional five-man camera crew, not high-tier like the ones we had from The Banghouse. They were the best in the business—guys who knew how to make skin look like velvet and shadows look like secrets.
The "story" was simple but lethal: TheArchitect and the Heiress.
I was dressed in a tailored, charcoal-grey suit—no tie, top two buttons of my crisp white shirt undone. I looked like a man who designed empires for a living and had no time for pleasantries. Sasha moved through the crew with a newfound fire, checking monitors and directing the lighting guys to kill the overheads in favor of warm, cinematic side-lighting. She was definitely good at this. Watching Holmes and Lana had given her experience.
