Chapter 4

The air on the rooftop terrace had cooled, shedding the heavy, humid blanket of the afternoon sun, but the residual heat radiating off the concrete floor and the glass walls kept the space warm, like an oven left with the door cracked just a sliver. It was nearly midnight. The Fourth of July had officially ended hours ago, the sky above the city skyline returning to its usual state of smog-choked darkness, punctuated only by the occasional distant flash of a taxi light or the steady, rhythmic blinking of the aviation lights on the Empire State Building. The music from the main hall had died down to a low, ambient hum, and the crowd had thinned out until only a scattered few stragglers remained, nursing empty champagne flutes or leaning against the railings, looking out at the water. I stood in the private nook, a secluded corner formed by the intersection of two high glass partitions and a long, sleek bar counter made of polished obsidian. It was intimate, almost cocoon-like, separated from the main flow of foot traffic by a semi-circular arrangement of high-backed velvet chairs and potted ferns that smelled of damp earth and citrus. The space felt