Finch drove steadily past the entrance of the hotel. It was brightly lit for those celebrities and the crème de la crème of New York who entered in the midst of the cameras and fans. The press were hunkered down in the cold by the rope that divided the rabble from some of the wealthiest people in the country.

John settled in, going over a checklist in his mind as he watched Sam. Her eyes were huge when she saw the continuous camera flashes and crowds of people all out in the record winter weather to catch a glimpse of a celebrity or two.

"We're not going in there?" Sam said, turning to Finch.

"The purpose is to keep as low of a profile as possible, Miss Tudin," Finch explained as he turned a corner, and pulled up to the curb. He twisted in his seat to face them.

"You'll be going in through the kitchen. But you can count on security posted at every access point in the place. Here are the invitations," Finch handed them to John, who slipped them into the inside of his tux jacket. "I suggest you look at the identities listed on the invitations before you go inside."

John pulled the invitations out and Sam leaned over his arm to take a look.

"Jonathan and Samantha Van Heidel," she read out loud. "We're from Chicago."

"Finch," John said flatly.

"The easiest way is to pass you off as a married couple. Oh yes, and you'll be needing these," Finch reached back again, but Sam beat John to it, and Finch dropped something into her hand. "I know you've acted the part before, Mr. Reese."

John exchanged a glance with Finch in the rearview mirror when Sam took his left hand and slipped a silver band onto his ring finger. She did the same for herself. They were official, now.

Sam was positively vibrating with nerves and excitement next to John. He stepped out of the car and opened her door, taking her hand as she stepped out.

The kitchen door opened. An employee tossed a bag of trash into the dumpster next to the building. John shouted for him to hold the door, and they were inside.

"It smells fabulous in here!" Sam said as John led her through the large kitchen. She sniffed the air and John tugged at her arm to keep her from stopping.

Sure enough, a guard posted at the entrance stopped them, asking for their invitations.

John smiled kindly. "Just my wife and I. We're trying to avoid some of the press, you understand."

The guard nodded as he examined the invitations, and returned them to John with a courteous smile. "Welcome, Mr. Van Heidel," he said, and held the door open for the two of them.

"Thank you," Sam said before John could get her out.

The kitchen opened into an empty dining hall, all circular tables with fine, linen table clothes; every place setting made perfect and appealing to the eye.

"John, you're ripping my arm out of the socket," Sam hissed at him.

"Sorry, Sam," John said. He'd been so focused at getting into the place that he hadn't realized how she was faring behind him. "I haven't worked with a partner in a long time."

"Just remember, I'm you're wife, not your dog," she said. "Don't worry, I don't need a leash. I'll stay with you."

She took his hand and walked next to him out of the dining hall and into the foyer. John felt Sam jerk his hand. She gasped, gazing up at the enormous chandelier overhead, and the double staircase that lead to the second floor.

"Don't be so astounded, Mrs. Van Heidel," John whispered to her as they went up the stairs. "You're used to this kind of thing, remember?"

Sam straightened up at his reminder, and held her nose in the air as they reached the landing and the entrance to the ballroom.

"Mr. and Mrs. Jonathan Van Heidel." Their alleged names echoed through the ballroom as they entered. Sam gripped harder onto John's hand until she was quite sure he had no blood running to it.

A few heads turned at the announcement of the latest arrivals, looking mildly interested for a few seconds. Then everyone went back to business, which generally was drinking champagne and exchanging the latest posh gossip, or so Sam thought.

"We're in, Finch," John said, offering his arm to Sam.

Sam held onto him gratefully as she gazed around the room. She did her best to keep her expression as neutral as possible as she saw about a half a dozen chandeliers over head, the live orchestra sitting on stands by the far wall, not to mention all of the amazing gowns and jewelry that continued passing before her eyes.

"Well done, the both of you." Finch said in her ear. "I've been able hack into the feed for one of the surveillance cameras in the ballroom. Just to your right, above the buffet table."

Sam attempted to appear casual as she glanced over and saw the mounted camera in the corner of the room. It took every ounce of energy for her to keep from waving at Finch.

"So, where's De Kamp?" Sam muttered.

"His guests are still arriving," Finch said through her earpiece. "I wouldn't expect him to make an appearance until after the first few dances."

Sam nodded. "What else do we know, John?"

"De Kamp is single, late forties, and paranoid as all hell. He never married – "

"Is he straight?" Sam blurted.

John's eyes snapped to her and she shrugged. "It'd be nice to know which one of us should flirt with him if we got the chance, wouldn't it?"

John's expression darkened. Sam could tell he didn't think she was taking this as seriously as she should be.

"Mr. Van Heidel!"

Sam started, but John remained cool. A stout, beefy man pushed his way through the chattering crowd of nobs toward them.

He held out his hand and John took it graciously. "I believe I knew your father, boy!" he said happily.

"That is, unless you are him, and those facelifts are more miraculous than I thought!" He jabbed John playfully in the ribs. John laughed, completely in character.

Sam smiled at the bubbly, red faced man.

"I'd say it was my father, because I don't believe I've had the pleasure." John lifted his eyebrows.

"Oh, yes, Reginald Winston, Mr. Van Heigel," he took John's hand again in both of his and shook it violently. "I own some property up north, come to the old De Kamp fundraiser every year." His eyes flicked over to Sam just once and John got the message.

He put his arm around Sam's shoulders. "I'm sorry. This is my wife, Samantha."

"I knew he'd get to me eventually," Sam said with a big smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Winston."

Mr. Winston laughed as he took Sam's offered hand. "Bah! Call me Reggie. And believe me, the pleasure is completely mine." He kissed the top of her hand and winked at her. "I'll have to claim you for one of the dances before the offers start to pile up. Are you game?"

"Absolutely," Sam said, nodding.

"Bravo!" Mr. Winston clapped his pudgy hands together and excused himself so he could locate his wife.

"He seems nice," Sam said, lifting her eyebrows at John.

"I'd be careful who you promise to dance with, Miss Tudin," Finch drawled in her ear. "Reginald Winston Jr. owns a great deal of land, that's true. But his annual income is mostly procured from the black market."

Sam deflated a little. "Way to be a killjoy, Harold."

"I'm merely stating facts," Finch said reproachfully.

The orchestra started up and the chatter of the crowd died down. Sam understood immediately that this was a tradition that's been kept up for heaven knows how long. No wonder Finch was so serious about her and John becoming comfortable with dancing.

The crowd began to pair off and glide onto the dance floor. John didn't move, and Sam was grateful. She wasn't quite ready to dance in front of all of these very posh people yet. And once they started, Sam realized that she preferred to watch. All of the elegant gowns flowing around and about like feathers in the wind mesmerized her.

"Come on," John took her hand and they started around the perimeter of the room. Sam nodded when she was nodded to, and was gracious when she was greeted by those who pretended to know her.

"That's what's really funny," she said quietly. "Half of these people probably don't even know the other half. They just act like they do."

"Welcome to the world of Money," Finch said.

"Holy crap!" Sam hissed, grabbing onto John's arm and stopping them. "There's Donald Trump!"

She had to resist pointing and nodded her head blatantly in the direction of the buffet table. John let out a mildly interested laugh. "I didn't think we'd see him here seeing as how he's more of a TV personality now."

"Why wouldn't he be here?"

"Because TV personalities are viewed as a step down from the rest of the people here," John explained.

They continued along on their path around the perimeter, as the dancers and music moved onto the next song. John stopped. Sam was close enough to him that she felt him tense up.

"What is it?"

"Let's dance." Without any formality, he led Sam by the hand out onto the dance floor and pulled her close to him.

The orchestra started on a waltz, much to Sam's relief. John guided her expertly amongst the other dancers, while Sam did her best simply to keep her feet with those heels underneath her.

"I saw one of Elias' men, Finch, standing by the east door. Looks like he's posing as another security guard."

Sam held onto him tighter as she tried to look.

"No, Sam! Look at me," John said.

Sam looked at John who returned her panicked expression with a steely one. She only saw the change in his eyes. Somehow, he managed to keep his the indifferent look on his face.

"That's a little blatant, though," Finch said to them. "Not exactly his style, is it?"

"You think Elias is trying to get at De Kamp?" Sam asked. "Why would he do that?"

"Excellent question," Finch said. "Is this the only one you've seen, Mr. Reese?"

"So far, yes."

The music slowed, and John released Sam in a gentle spin as the song ended. He pulled her back to him and they stepped off of the floor.