"Ladies and gentlemen, it is my pleasure to introduce your host for this evening," The orchestra conductor held his baton in his hands as he beamed at the crowd. "Mr. Freddie De Kamp!"

Sam and John applauded with the rest of the crowd as a man stepped out in front of the orchestra. He made a small bow and waved at his guests to quiet down. Sam had seen a picture or two of him while standing in a grocery store line. The tabloids claimed most of the credit for that. But somehow, in person, he didn't look like a gajillionaire.

De Kamp was on the short side, his light hair was receding, which he tried to cover up by keeping his hair long in the front. He wasn't bad looking, but he wasn't entirely remarkable either. Sam shrugged as her brain placed him under the 'ordinary' category.

"I don't like big speeches," he said with a shy smile. "Welcome, to you all and I hope you enjoy the evening!"

He gave the microphone back to the conductor, who started the orchestra again. Sam watched De Kamp brush a hand through his hair as he stepped off of the stand. He kept his head down, as though concentrating on his feet, until he approached the nearest person, who happened to be Donald Trump of all people. De Kamp greeted him with a handshake and a pat on the back like they were old friends.

"He seems almost shy," Sam said out loud.

"He is that, indeed, my dear."

Sam glanced up at John, who shook his head. She then looked to her right and saw and older woman dressed to the nines, standing casually next to her.

"Do you know him?" Sam asked the woman, her eyes moving to the tiara buried in her silver curls.

"Since he was a boy," the woman said proudly. Her eyes rested upon Sam and she smiled. "Joan Lawnford, Miss?"

Mrs. Lawnford held out her hand to Sam. "Van Heidel, Samantha Van Heidel." Sam took her hand. Mrs. Lawnford gave it a squeeze and let go.

"I am Freddie's grandmother," she said. "On his mother's side, of course."

"Oh, it's very nice to meet you! Um," she yanked on John's hand. He'd gotten distracted, but she couldn't tell by what. "This is my husband, John."

"I don't recall ever seeing the two of you here before. I most certainly would remember such a handsome couple." She smiled.

"We've never attended before, but thank you."

John tugged back at Sam. He wanted to move again.

"It seems my presence is required elsewhere," Sam said to Mrs. Lawnford. "Please excuse us."

The old woman nodded and immediately turned to pounce on another couple that was passing in close proximity.

The next song was up tempo, and Sam grinned at John. "Oh, it's swing." She said, kicking her feet up behind her. "Come on, John."

"Sam, there are a few more important things going on here," John said through his teeth.

"I agree. Remember what you're there for, Miss Tudin."

"Party Pooper," Sam said, disappointed.

"I thought Finch was the killjoy," John said with a hint of a smile.

"Finch is the Killjoy. You're the Party Pooper."

"There's my girl, right there!" a familiar voice accosted their ears.

Sam turned just in time to see the large face of Mr. Winston bearing down upon her. "You promised me a dance!" he said, taking her hand and yanking her away from John.

John let Sam go. She'd make an excellent distraction for the crowd while he investigated a bit.

Estimating at least two minutes for the duration of the dance, John stepped back against the wall and slipped out of the first exit he could find.

"Finch?"

"I can hear Mr. Winston's heavy breathing from here. I'm afraid he may collapse."

"That'll keep all of them busy for a little longer, then," John said.

The corridor was empty. No employees or security could be seen anywhere – the second red flag of the evening. John walked quickly, trying doors as he came upon them.

One opened into a bedroom. The lights were on, and on the bed lay a black duffel bag and briefcase. John checked the bag first. It was empty. He was about to go into the briefcase when he heard a toilet flush from the adjoining bathroom.

He strode out of the room and waited.

A man dressed in a black suit, identical to the rest of the security guards around the hotel, zipped up his pants as he came into the bedroom. He looked up and saw that the door was open.

When he approached the threshold, John's elbow was the last thing he would remember seeing.

John turned the man over. A gun was tucked into his pants, and a cell phone in his pocket.

"I just found another one, Finch."

"Elias?"

"Yeah. Something is going down here tonight."

John hid the body in the closet and locked the door from the inside. He quickly made his way back into the ballroom.

Sam caught sight of him and smiled. Her face was rosy and she appeared out of breath. Mr. Winston, however, was still standing in spite of Finch's prediction. John moved away from the wall but stopped his approach when Sam's attention was taken by someone else.

De Kamp himself tapped her on the shoulder and introduced himself. John watched as he took her by the hand and waited until the next song began.

"What's got you so preoccupied?"

John blinked and tore his eyes away from Sam dancing with De Kamp and saw a woman standing in front of him.

"Zoe." John said in greeting.

Zoe smiled.

Sam saw the woman who approached John. She was hardly dressed appropriately for the weather they were having. If she bent over, they'd all be in for a show. The woman was older, had strawberry blonde hair done up in a twist at the back of her head.

De Kamp turned her around and she lost view of them.

"Keep him talking Sam," Finch said into her ear.

"Oh yes, my husband, John, and I are really enjoying the city. We don't get out here very often."

"I apologize on behalf of the weather we've been having," De Kamp said, smiling sheepishly.

Sam laughed. "No one comes to New York for the weather."

"Are you staying here long?"

"For the week, probably. Maybe longer," Sam said. It was difficult keeping her screaming thoughts at bay. She was dancing with one of the richest men in the world, and he seemed genuinely interested in her of all people.

"I would love to show you around some of my favorite parts of the city," De Kamp said. "But, I don't have a lot of time left."

"What do you mean? Are you leaving?"

"In a manner of speaking," he said, looking nervous.

"It might do you some good, though – keeping away from the media. I know they never really let you get a rest, do they?"

"You are very kind, Mrs. Van Heidel."

"You can call me Sam," she said.

De Kamp smiled gratefully at the offer. Sam couldn't believe it but she pitied him. He had everything there was to be had in the world, yet he seemed like one of the saddest people she'd ever met.

"Sam," De Kamp said, as though trying it on for size.

"What would you like me to call you? Freddie?"

"Ugh, no! I've always hated that name."

"Really? But that's how everyone knows you."

"My father made sure of that. He was Freddie De Kamp and so am I. And that's how it should be," De Kamp mimicked his father jokingly.

But Sam could see very easily that she was standing on the precipice of years and years of work for an experienced therapist.

The dance ended and De Kamp stopped, but still held her as though he was ready to start up again.

"Come and meet my husband," Sam offered. She looked to where John had been standing earlier. He was still there, with that smiling woman. He seemed to know her already. Who could she be, then? Perhaps Finch would know.

"I'd better not, Sam," De Kamp said. He released her, but took her hand and kissed it gently. "Thank you for the dance."

De Kamp took a step away from her, and the room exploded.