vanity.
Flashes popped incessantly as a legion of paparazzi crowded behind velvet ropes. Tonight was the annual Washington Foundation Charity Gala. It was a highly publicized, incredibly expensive event designed not to help the needy, but to pump up the public image of the family and artificially inflate the stock price of Washington Shipping ahead of a disastrous quarterly earnings report that Howard was desperately trying to hide.
Howard Washington, my father-in-law, stood at the apex of the red carpet. He was a tall, imposing man with silver hair and a tailored tuxedo, exuding old-money power. He was smiling broadly, shaking hands with a state senator and a group of key institutional investors, playing the role of the benevolent patriarch to perfection.
A sleek, midnight-black Maybach glided smoothly to the curb, its heavily tinted windows reflecting the chaotic flashes of the cameras. The sheer presence of the vehicle, far more
