Cecilia led them across the ballroom, over to a small group of four. "This is Mister and Madame Hughes," Cecilia said, introducing an older couple first. "Of Hughes Rail LLC."

"Charmed," Madame Hughes said, while Mister Hughes tilted his head.

"And this is Madame Gray," Cecilia introduced. "A talented—"

"Seamstress," Charles finished, flashing Madame Gray a smile. "We've met." She was a client of his who had asked Charles for a collection of memories of her late husband after he had died suddenly earlier that year. Charles had wanted to offer his services for her free of charge, but she had insisted on paying him with an enchanted dress, designed to fit any wearer perfectly. Charles hadn't known what to do with the dress; it had been sitting on the corner of his desk for several months now. "It's nice to see you again, Madame."

"You as well, Mister Abbot," she said with a kind grin.

"And last but not least," Cecilia said, gesturing to the final gentleman in the group, "my cousin, Henry Monroe."

The introduction had mostly been for Juliette's benefit, as Charles and James had met Henry many times before. Still, Henry gave them both a sly smile. "Hello, Charles. James," he said, his voice lingering over the second name.

Henry was the sort of man who knew how attractive he was—tall, slender, with dark hair that was always a little bit too long but somehow made him more attractive. He had been called a scoundrel before—both behind his back and to his face—but he didn't seem to mind the label.

He also was fabulously wealthy. Besides being a Monroe, he worked in the gas industry, leading the transition from open flames to lights that functioned with the flip of a switch.

"Good evening, Henry," James greeted. "Nice to see you, as always."

Charles watched their interaction with keen awareness. He saw the hungry gaze in Henry's eyes as they fell onto his brother. James' face, meanwhile, was more reserved—although Charles knew that didn't mean much. James liked to keep his personal life private, and Charles had a sneaking suspicion that he didn't dare show his true feelings with his brother at his side.

They would make such a good pair, Charles thought, looking between them. Dark-haired, brooding, handsome Henry paired with James' bright spirit?

Charles was so caught up in his thoughts that it took him a moment to realize that Juliette had spoken up.

"...you also own the mine at the edge of town, right?" Juliette was asking the Hughes.

"Why, yes," Mister Hughes said with a smile poking out from beneath his large grey mustache. "Very knowledgeable young girl."

"And you hire children for the work sometimes?"

"Of course," Mister Hughes said. "Smaller, more nimble fingers, and bodies perfect for fitting into tight spaces. They are integral to our operations—and of course, we offer them a wage for their hard work."

Charles could see where Juliette's thought process was: she was already in investigation mode, trying to parse out if the Hughes were involved in this cult. It was a good thought—the mines did employ several children, putting them in a questionable working environment even if there was pay.

If you wanted to make some children disappear, Charles thought, all you have to do is stage a mine collapse...

Still, Charles didn't want Juliette to draw too much attention, so he placed a hand on her shoulder. "It's admirable that you're doing so much for the impoverished children in this city," he said to Mister Hughes.

"Well, I do find the work we do rewarding," Madame Hughes said, but then turned to face Cecilia, "although I don't think it can compare to what you and your father are doing at the orphanage. The new wing? That is absolutely incredible."

Of course, Charles thought. He hadn't asked Cecilia what this dinner was benefiting, but he should have known. Ever since Cecilia had been a child, she would spend one or two days a week volunteering at Silvers Orphanage. It was something her mother had been extremely passionate about. About a year after she had died, Thomas Monroe had picked up the banner, pouring more money into the orphanage, trying to get more children off the street in honor of his deceased wife.

On one hand, it was odd to think that members of a child-sacrificing cult would come to a charity event directly benefiting children. On the other hand, Charles thought, I wonder how many cultists donate to the orphanage out of guilt, trying to make up for their own moral failings?

And then, a darker thought crossed his mind. Or perhaps they're hoping to get closer to Mister Monroe—use his influence and power to gain access to the orphanage. If that's not their current source of children, maybe it's their new target?

Again, Charles found himself surveying his company, wondering if any of them were involved in this cult—or if Lillian's accusation from earlier was just making him paranoid.

Suddenly, there was a tolling of a bell, and Cecilia's eyes widened. "It's time for dinner! I can help escort you to your seats."

There were three long tables set up at the opposite end of the ballroom, each capable of holding at least forty guests. Cecilia led them all to the middle table, which was beautifully decorated with delicate china, bowls of flowers, and small hand-written name cards. Even Juliette—whose arrival had only been announced a few minutes earlier—had a card with her "name" written on it in delicate script.

Charles was surprised how close he had been seated to the center of the table, diagonally across from where Thomas Monroe would be sitting. The Hughes and Madame Gray, meanwhile, had been seated much further down.

This is insane, Charles realized, noticing that he was drawing the attention of several guests in the room. Seating arrangements were not done without careful planning. His spot signified him as someone important, someone to be taken notice of.

An older gentleman with a clean-shaven face and a rather old suit sat next to Charles, in the seat directly opposite of Mister Monroe's. Charles caught a glimpse of his name on his place card—Barnaby Fox—but before he could introduce himself, several servants emerged from the wings with bottles of champagne. They quickly went down the lines of tables, pouring champagne for what was no doubt to be an upcoming toast.

"Thank you, Foote," James said to his right as the manservant poured his glass.

Charles, again, wanted to smack his brother for his faux pas; this time, he even caught Henry Monroe giving his brother a quizzical look from his seat across from him. But thankfully, the whole room suddenly erupted into cheers, drawing everyone's attention away from the table.

Charles followed the sound and saw that Thomas Monroe had emerged from the grand double doors, grinning broadly as he walked into the ballroom.

Thomas Monroe was a jovial man with a short brown beard and a perpetual grin. He didn't look like the sort who had been such a force to be reckoned with in the arena back in the day—time had added a bit of a gut—but his large, calloused hands spoke of someone who worked with the earth, someone who hadn't been born with a silver spoon in his mouth.

Amidst the cheers, he walked to his spot in the center of the table, remaining standing as the applause died down.

"Thank you for coming tonight!" he said, his voice echoing throughout the room. "I want to keep this speech short and sweet, so we can spend more time enjoying the food and each other's company.

"When Adelaide died two years ago, I was beside myself, as I'm sure many of you are aware. She was the light in my life, and the days felt darker without her. I knew I had to do something to honor her life, to continue the good she had done while she was on this Earth. So last year I took up her banner at Silvers orphanage."

He gestured to his daughter. "Cecilia, who's been volunteering there since she was a child, has continued to work there now, even while planning a wedding. And I've been able to contribute monetarily, allowing the orphanage to renovate, provide the children with new clothes, and—most importantly—expand the orphanage's reach, allowing for a great number of adoptions."

He grinned. "Last week, I was told that our efforts have helped to secure more adoptions this past year than in the previous three years combined, and they have named a wing in my honor."

At this, there was another round of applause. Charles caught Juliette staring up with admiration at the man, clapping her hands together loudly.

When the applause settled down, Mister Monroe continued. "This dinner is not meant as a celebration—although I am proud of how far things have come this past year. What's most important to me is that we continue this work, and for that I need your help." He pressed a finger onto the table. "Every child deserves a home. With your donation, we are able to take children off the streets. We are able to find them new parents, loving families. We are giving children a chance. Enjoy this banquet, but also remember, at the end of the day, that there are children who need your support. So please, donate. Let's continue Adelaide's work, and together, we can transform this city."

He held up his champagne glass, and everyone else copied—even Juliette, who had been poured the tiniest amount. As he tilted the liquid back into his throat, Charles looked around at the people in the room. From the outside, they all seemed pleasant enough—dressed to the nines, smiling warmly, attending a dinner benefiting orphaned children. And yet Charles couldn't help but see the hunger in their eyes—and it wasn't for food.

Thomas Monroe was the wealthiest, most influential man in town. How many people were eyeing this man, hoping to bend him to their will? How many of them stared longingly at Charles' seat, wishing to be him? And how far would these people go to achieve their goals?