The grand hall was alive with energy—chandeliers casting golden light over polished floors, and voices blending with the rhythmic hum of a distant jazz band. Jimmy Chilla adjusted his cufflinks, his tailored navy suit fitting like a second skin. He didn’t need to speak to command attention; his presence alone was enough. He scanned the room with a calm intensity, taking in every detail—the subtle shifts in conversation, the unspoken hierarchies, and the way people...