The evening had finally descended, cloaking the grand estate of Falcones into a grand celebration. One by one, the guests began to arrive, their expensive cars pulling up the winding drive, disgorging figures in designer attire and flashing jewels. It was a symphony of wealth and power, all gathering under the roof of Adam Falcone.
Inside, the chatter of the elite mingled with the clinking of glasses. Adam stood by a towering marble fireplace, his hand wrapped around a whiskey glass.
"Adam, I don't see your daughter and son-in-law here tonight," one of his oldest friends, a portly man with a neatly trimmed beard, inquired.
"I'm sure he didn't invite them. Adam was furious after Sara sold off his company," another friend, a sharp-eyed woman in a navy blue dress, interjected.
