The Golden Koi was a fortress, but it was a fortress built in the shadows. If I wanted to strike at the Empress, I needed to operate in the light.
I stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror in the penthouse, adjusting the cuffs of a bespoke, midnight-blue Tom Ford tuxedo. The fabric was flawless. It slid between my fingers like water. No wrinkles. The cut was immaculate. It sat on my shoulders like it was poured there.
The room was quiet. The only sound was the soft _shh_ of fabric as I moved.
I slipped a platinum Patek Philippe watch onto my left wrist. The metal was cold at first, then it warmed against my skin. The face was simple. No numbers. Just thin hands. I checked my reflection.
Noah Reed, the gritty, dangerous Head of Security, was gone.
Julian Croft, the arrogant, untouchable Singaporean tech billionaire, stared back at me. His posture was different. Shoulders back. Chin up. Eyes calm. He owned the room before he walked into it.
