The Man Outside the Velvet Rope

"You're lost, fella," the guard said, and the guests behind him smirked.

Emmett Pollard walked up the private driveway of the hotel hosting the summit, in a plain charcoal work jacket and scuffed brown boots, and got laughed at by a man with a name tag.

He can lose nothing here but his patience — and in front of a hundred people who matter, the guard can lose the one thing he was hired to protect.

Dale Corrigan looked Emmett from his cap to his boots, laughed, and told him he was lost. He pointed at the brass stanchion and the velvet rope like a man showing off his own house. A publicist in an ivory blazer smirked along with him and never once asked a question.