I pressed the phone to my ear, the silence on the other end lasting just a second too long before a voice cut through—refined, melodic, and chillingly calm. It wasn't Evelyn, and it certainly wasn't Cami. This was the voice of old money, the kind that never has to raise its volume to be heard.
"Your performance at the butchery was... illuminating, Druski," she said. I could hear the faint clink of ice against a glass in the background. "My husband and I haven't been that entertained by 'talent' in years. We've spent the last hour looking into your operation—The Banghouse. You have a vision that's remarkably... unburdened by morality."
I felt a chill that the shower couldn't wash away. "Who is this?"
"Potential," she replied smoothly. "We're looking to diversify our portfolio, and your brand of 'chaos' is currently undervalued. We'd like to discuss a formal investment. Say, lunch today at Bel-Air?"
