I didn’t know what I expected when I opened the door that night.

But it definitely wasn’t Henry Black.

He stood with the calm stillness of someone who didn’t waste words, shoulders squared, and the passenger door of a waiting SUV already open behind him.

“I know it’s late,” he said, voice quiet but firm. “But I was hoping you’d give me a few minutes.”

I hesitated. Then nodded.

His driver waited beside a matte Range Rover Autobiography. I followed Henry into the backseat, ...