[Jake's POV]
The Lennox Club was the kind of place that did not need a sign. It sat on the upper floors of a restored pre-war building near Madison Avenue, hidden behind a private elevator, a bored doorman, and enough old money arrogance to make the air feel taxed. Men like Richard Bellamy did not go there to enjoy themselves. They went there to feel safe while making decisions that ruined people who would never be invited inside.
Victoria's file said the club had been founded by railroad heirs, shipping families, and bankers who thought democracy was a temporary inconvenience. It had no public website, no social media presence, and no listed membership committee. The only photographs online were from charity galas where the background had been carefully blurred. That was how you knew the place mattered. Anything rich people truly valued, they hid.
