Rose stepped onto the balcony of Herod's penthouse, a glass of champagne catching the golden light of sunset. Below, Manhattan sprawled in all its glittering glory, oblivious to the small victory celebration taking place sixty floors above.

"To successful beginnings," Herod said, joining her with his own glass. The evening breeze ruffled his dark hair, softening his usually severe appearance.

"Six percent," Rose replied, satisfaction warming her voice. ...