Page 44 of Deadly Offer

He stepped away from the podium, signaling the transition to the networking portion of the event. The investors rose from their seats, gravitating toward the buffet tables or forming small conversation groups. This was the real work, where handshakes and personal assurances would convert interest into capital.

Three wealthy prospects: a hedge fund manager, a tech entrepreneur, and an old-money heiress cornered Reuben by the champagne fountain. They peppered him with questions about risk assessment strategies. He answered each one with exact figures and confident projections, never once glancing at notes.

“The collateralized approach minimizes exposure while maximizing potential upside,” Reuben explained, gesturing again toward the presentation screen still displaying his final slide. The movement drew attention to his cufflinks.

A hand clapped his shoulder from behind. “Reuben! Outstanding presentation.”

Nolan Ward stood there, champagne in hand, his weathered face flushed with excitement. As one of Matthew Capital Ventures’ first and wealthiest clients, Ward had become both Reuben’s most vocal champion and a crucial connection to old-money circles that would have otherwise remained closed to him.

But behind Ward stood a man Reuben had hoped never to see again, particularly not here, where his new world intersected with wealthy clients who knew nothing of his other life.

“I’ve brought someone you simply must meet,” Ward continued, oblivious to the way Reuben’s posture had stiffened. “He’s a brilliant businessman. I met him at one of those private card games last month.”

The other investors circling them excused themselves, sensing the interruption. Still, Reuben barely noticed them leave, his attention locked on the newcomer’s shrewd eyes.

The crisp scent of the man’s expensive cologne—expensive sandalwood with chemical undertones—hit Reuben’s nostrils, stirring memories of dimmed lights and staged poker games where every tell had been manufactured.

“Dmitrii Miroslav,” Ward said, waving the man forward. “Meet Reuben Hoyt, the young financial genius I’ve been telling you about.”

Dmitrii stepped forward, hand extended. His smile appeared like a mask slipped into place. It was all surface polish, with nothing behind it but the cold assessment in his unwavering stare. “Mr. Hoyt. What a pleasant surprise.”

“You two know each other?” Ward looked between them, eyebrows raised.

“We’ve crossed paths,” Reuben said, accepting Dmitrii’s handshake with an intentional grip that was neither yielding nor aggressive. “At the card tables, primarily.”

“Ah!” Ward nodded, rocking back on his heels. “Then you already know what a sharp mind our Reuben has. He’s turned around my investment portfolio in just two months.”

A waiter approached with fresh glasses of champagne. Ward checked his watch and grimaced.

“I promised my wife I’d call her before noon. Excuse me gentlemen, please, get reacquainted.” He patted them bothon the shoulder and hurried toward a quieter corner of the ballroom.

“Well, look at you,” Dmitrii said, voice dropping once Ward was out of earshot. “I was worried when I heard about all that trouble with the Matvei clan. But you’reclearlydoing just fine.”

Reuben surveyed the room, noting the positions of waiters, exits, and potential listeners before responding. The ballroom’s gentle classical music and ambient chatter of wealth suddenly seemed like a thin veneer over something darker.

Two worlds colliding—the polished investor he’d become and the poker player who’d navigated criminal enterprises. His gaze swept over the elderly hedge fund manager who’d just pledged eight million, the tech mogul whose handshake had sealed a partnership. None of them knew who truly stood before them.

“What are you doing here, Dmitrii?” His voice remained pitched for business, even as his mind clicked into the vigilant state he’d developed from living in Nikon’s world.

“Taking in the show.” Dmitrii gestured toward the mingling investors with his champagne flute. “Got to hand it to you. This is a pretty impressive setup in just a few months.”

Dmitrii took a quick sip from his champagne flute, making a soft, appreciative hum. “Excellent vintage. Your investors spare no expense.” He lowered his voice before continuing. “You know, I’ve been trying to arrange another meeting since our little card game encounters. But every time my men get within a mile of you, the Matvei brothers shoot first and ask questions never. Though I’ve got to say, during those nights at my tables, getting under your skin was a lot harder than I expected. Back then, I thought you were just another of Nikon’s pretty boys, but there’s evidently more to the story.”

Reuben’s expression remained neutral, though his fingers pressed more firmly against the stem of his glass. “If you’re looking to invest, we’re pretty picky about our partners.”

“Oh, I’m not here about money. Not directly anyway.” Dmitrii stepped closer, his words meant for Reuben’s ears alone. “I thought you might want an update on your brother-in-law. He’s been quite the helper, though his info seems to be hit-or-miss these days.”

Reuben’s pulse quickened, but his face betrayed nothing. The pieces clicked into place. Dmitrii knew about Andrey’s role as an unwitting double agent.

“Brother-in-law? That’s news to me,” Reuben said carefully.

Dmitrii’s lips curved into something between a smile and a sneer. “Really? That’s weird. Andrey seems convinced otherwise.”

A server approached with a tray of hors d’oeuvres, forcing them both to pause. Reuben used the moment to scan the room for eavesdroppers. Several investors glanced their way, curious about the newcomer engaging their host so intensely.

When the server moved on, Dmitrii continued as if there had been no interruption. “You know what’s funny? How Andrey just showed up at my door, all desperate and disgraced. Almost like someone set him up to fall.”

“I heard he screwed over his family.” Reuben shrugged as he sipped his champagne. “The Matvei boys aren’t exactly the forgiving type.”

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