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Logan and I looked up at the same time. The host, Mr. Davies, was walking toward us, and behind him… were
the father and son.
Mr. Davies was getting on in years, but he was full of energy. He approached Logan warmly, and they shook
hands.
My gaze drifted past them to the figures behind.
The handsome young man was holding his child, his lashes lowered, his attention completely absorbed by the boy. He offered us nothing more than a cold, indifferent profile. The child must have had some cake, because there was a smudge of pink frosting at the corner of his mouth. The man held a handkerchief betw- een his long, pale fingers and was gently wiping his son’s face.
Mr. Davies was already enthusiastically making introductions. He introduced Logan and me, then turned to
the father and son.
I finally learned the man’s name: Damian Thorne.
Mr. Davies mentioned they had just returned from overseas last month. He hinted to Logan, “Mr. Thorne is a young and brilliant man, a titan of North American finance with billions at his command.”
Logan was a natural in these settings. He could exchange pleasantries with anyone. But for some reason, when faced with Damian, I could feel a chill emanating from him–a hint of something that felt like hostility.
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