South Hampton, May 2009

Staring out the window of his castle, Boris pondered his own masochism. Thousands of people breaching his gates to gorge on his food and guzzle his liquor. His sanctuary had turned habitat to an entire ecosystem that disgusted him. He couldn't say which was worse, his fellow "elite folk" or the social climbers. Grasping consumptive leeches, sucking each other dry. The fact he'd invited them was besides the point.

Boris swirled his cognac, struggling to recall if there was a single soul attending this bacchanalia that he felt any respect for. Dr. Silver perhaps? The man was a skilled doctor and such expertise was valuable. Unfortunately Boris had begun to have his doubts about the man himself. Lately Silver seemed a bit too enamored of the lifestyle he enjoyed at Shadow Pond.

The man well knew the consequences of imbibing while on the clock, but drink wasn't the only vice the doctor had. Silver's personal vanity was troubling, as was his fondness for women a third of his own age. These were vulnerabilities Boris' enemies would easily be able to exploit, if in future Silver knew anything of import.

At present Boris had no need to reveal sensitive information to the doctor, but that could change at any moment. He could replace Silver, but the sad truth was that most concierge doctors fit his profile. Perhaps Boris would be better served if he actively recruited a more suitable candidate.

Dr. Jill Casey was no doubt here amongst the throng, hoping to secure more investors for her free clinic. She was a highly gifted doctor to have risen to her post at so young an age. She'd thus far demonstrated discretion in regard to his donorship. The woman's obvious beauty combined with her choice of profession told him that her material ambitions were far less than Silver's. Someone of her intelligence and looks had many easier paths to wealth than medical school. This would make her less susceptible to bribery. Boris had to acknowledge that was a double edged sword. His adversaries would not have that method of influence, but neither would he.

Her being a stunning woman presented another challenge. If Dr. Casey came to live in his guest cottage, the world would label her his mistress. Even if Boris could convince her to abandon her career path, he doubted she'd be anxious to subject herself to the speculations of the Hampton rumor mill. No, regretfully Dr. Jill Casey was not the answer he was looking for.

Boris' ruminations were interrupted by brisk knocking at the door.

"Enter." The portal swung open, revealing Dieter and Boris' head of security, Yosef Isaac.

Yosef briskly crossed the floor to stand at attention in the center of room. Dieter silently closed the door and took his position on the room's periphery.

"Excuse me, Sir. We may have a situation. Two uninvited guests have infiltrated the party." Boris raised his eyebrows, privately a bit pleased. He could put off his descent into the swarm for a few minutes longer. It was a welcome reprieve.

"How?" One of the reasons he threw these ostentatious soirees was to lure his adversaries into the open. The means used to subvert his security would help Boris identify his enemy.

"They masqueraded as one of your cousins and his security guard. The one posing as your cousin had a decent counterfeit identification. They were immediately admitted and closely monitored, per your standing orders." Boris suppressed a smirk. The fact his many 'cousins' had access to his home during his parties was private enough information to tempt would-be infiltrators. Someone had taken a nimble from the cheese he'd used as bait.

"What is the preliminary assessment?" If he didn't know better, he would have thought the former Mossad agent was battling mirth. He hadn't been aware until this moment that humor was a concept Yosef was acquainted with.

"Gate crashers, and poor ones at that. The man's accent was unconvincing and they arrived in 900 Saub Turbo made prior to the turn of the millennium." Boris nodded, deflating. Not quite the diversion he'd been hoping for. Pity.

"Very well. Tap two shadow security assets and assign one to each. I want to know what they do, who they speak to, and what they say. Search the car and run the plates. I require an ID and initial background within the hour." Yosef nodded once, then exited as swiftly as he'd entered.

It was unlikely these gentlemen, whoever they were, had ties to anyone of significance, but that wasn't an excuse to indulge in carelessness. He had every confidence his team would have the men's measure within the next sixty minutes.

It was widely known that Boris routinely issued mass invitations to modeling and acting agencies, ensuring his parties were full to the brim with attractive young women and men. What was not known was that these groups camouflaged some of his most useful business assets. The beautiful were invited everywhere and frequently dismissed as decorative objects, rather than thinking people. As a result his agents provided Boris an impressive amount of information.

"Will you be joining your guests, sir?" Boris grimaced and aimed a dark look at Dieter for the implied rebuke. The man seemed unperturbed, but then he always did. His manservant made Boris himself look positively emotive. He supposed Dieter was correct. He delayed long enough. Being late to his own party made him elusive. Skipping the evening entirely made him suspicious. If there was one thing he'd learned from his family, it was that appearances must always be maintained. Boris sighed and drained his drink. Once more into the breach it was.

For forty-five minutes Boris sailed through the various rooms of his home. He allowed himself to be greeted by all and sundry, lingering with no group for longer than a minute. At long last he caught sight of his security chief, who gave him a sharp nod. Boris excused himself and followed the man into one of the secured rooms.

Once the doors were closed Boris gestured for the man's device. Two men's faces filled the screen. Both men had dark curly hair and features that bore a slight resemblance to one another. The leaner of the two looked vaguely familiar, but the man with the squarer jaw did not.

"Evan and Henry Lawson. Sons of Edward R. Lawson and Catherine Lawson (deceased). Evan Lawson is a CPA based in Brooklyn. Henry Lawson, AKA Hank Lawson was recently terminated from his post as an ER doctor at Brooklyn Mercy. They are currently staying in the Hampt Inn in West Hampton." A memory clicked into place. He'd recently turned away the CPA from a charity event to which he had not been invited. The man was persistent, to try again so soon.

"And what have these brothers been up to since arriving?" Was there more to this determined effort than met the eye? Or merely a pair of "Citidiots" as the native Hamptonites liked to say, hoping to sneak into an exclusive party?

"Fielding approaches from various hangers on. The CPA seems very receptive and is maintaining his assumed identity. The doctor is considerably less so." That caused Boris to look up.

"Meaning what?"

"He informed the shadow security officer that his shirt is 'from Costco' presumably with the intention of repelling her overtures. Apparently she is not the only female guest he's dismissed in this manner. Do you want them ejected?" Boris looked at the tablet again, this time focusing on the doctor. Perhaps he was the true mastermind, hiding behind his fool of a brother? Was he here to acquire a DNA sample? No, that made little sense. One won't need a doctor to play spy, only to interpret results. Not to mention the man was deliberately announcing to all who'd listen that he didn't fit in with the party goers. Hardly the actions of a covert operative.

"No. Maintain your distance, but continue to monitor both of them. Alert me if anything unusual occurs." If pressed Boris was unsure he could provide a solid rationale to support his decision. Perhaps it was the seeming contradiction between the doctor's actions. Why would he sneak into a event only to scorn its attendees?

Perhaps it was merely Doctor Lawson's open and friendly countenance. His expression was quite different from the facades Boris was used to seeing in his daily life. Either way, he had no need to justify his instincts, either to himself or anyone else. They'd never lead him astray before and he had no reason to believe they would now.