Glitter. Glitter and glam. Whichever way you turned, however you shifted your attention, it was all there, shining out and down and across like the accoutrements of some storied castle ball. Not so subtly done, perhaps, but certainly worthy of attention.

A series of chandeliers, each immensely proportioned, sent twinkling prisms of light into every corner of the enormous room, which tonight, was given over to the rule of a corporate dinner and celebration for the privileged one-percenters.

Mirrors reflected the silver flash of a disco ball, burgundy curtains provided the backdrop, and the highly polished marble floors and plush blue carpet reflected the attendees’ collective wealth. The hum of conversation and the clink and clatter of dining utensils vied with the subdued musical renderings of a twelve-piece orchestra.

It was supposed to be a charitable dinner dance, but wheelings and dealings of all kinds were being conducted over every inch of white linen tablecloth.

Sheikh Karim Al Ahsan, native of the Middle Eastern nation of Al Mediznah, glued his jaws together, stifling a yawn. How many of these pretentious functions had he attended in his twenty-nine years? How many had he endured simply in the name of commerce and industry, to enhance his own or to attract new?

The chase for the almighty petrodollar extended around the world, pulling him and others like him along like the tail of a comet. Would it end only when the fossil fuel empire finally ran dry? When forward-looking entrepreneurs sought new, renewable resources?

Of course, for Karim, member of a well-connected family and cousin of his country’s ruler, these were but distant, wandering thoughts. His main concern tonight was to ensure that his own plan did not fall through.

“Ah, Karim, my friend. You seem pensive.”

It was Chip Griffin, the suave and distinguished white-haired reason for Karim’s attendance, leaning forward slightly from his place opposite him to make the comment. Chip was the owner and CEO of Griffin Oceanic, a ship-building conglomerate whose sale to Karim’s own company was scheduled to be completed within the next couple of weeks (after a boatload of lawyers had had their way with the paperwork).

He had welcomed Karim to the festivities tonight as if he were not selling off a great chunk of himself.

“Just taking in my surroundings,” Karim replied pleasantly.

A tall, well-built young man whose clean-shaven face showed off a sharp jawline, Karim had been educated at some of the finest schools and universities in the world and spoke three languages fluently, without a trace of an accent.

“And what is your opinion?” Chip Griffin asked with a small, crooked smile.

“I think that everyone has done their best to outdo themselves,” replied Karim cryptically.

“Huh. Interesting.” The magnate paused for a glance around, taking in the servers making their discreet rounds, and the orchestra quietly changing pitch and tone of their musical selections. “Well, the food is good, anyway.”

“The food is excellent. I could ask for no more.”

Just then, the muted tinkle of a cellphone’s ring caught Chip’s attention, and he excused himself to turn slightly sideways, pull the device from inside his jacket’s breast pocket, and answer. Meanwhile, his wife, Annemarie, looking lovely in a floor-length navy dress that floated around her like a cloud, engaged Karim in conversation.

His home life, his family members, his current situation—she covered every personal topic, as a good hostess does. Busy with work, he reported to her, and staying right here in Philadelphia for the time, in a very nice hotel. And he thanked her for her interest.

By now, Chip had finished with his phone call and returned to the conversation with his apologies.

“That was one of our sons,” he explained, with a smile.

“John Tobias,” cooed Annemarie. “He’s been traveling, on business.”

“In San Francisco, doing a little sightseeing at Fisherman’s Wharf,” Chip continued. “He called to wish me an early Happy Father’s Day.”

“How very thoughtful of him.” Karim’s easy comment was echoed by several others at the table, with nods of approval.

“Father’s Day and Mother’s Day,” someone said, with a chuckle. “When all the collective guilt comes out from the kids, and they try to make up for the rest of the year.”

“It is a pleasant tradition you have. To at least remind children of the gratitude they owe their parents,” Karim offered.

“All spurred on by the greeting card companies,” scoffed someone else, who was probably being neglected by his own offspring. “And the florists and chocolatiers.”

“Ah, you mustn’t be so cynical,” Annemarie urged. “I agree with Karim; the sentiment is wonderful, and I appreciate every minute of it.”

“Me, too,” agreed Chip. “Now, we’ll just see if the other rascally son decides to give me a call.”

With main course plates and silver having been cleared away, coffee and dessert were now being offered. Chip Griffin was already digging into his dish of rich fudge cake, topped by equally rich fudge icing and glaze, with disregard for the danger of too many calories.

“This is damn tasty,” he mumbled around a forkful. “Yes, JT is a good son to us, isn’t he, Annie? Got a level head on his shoulders, and his feet on the ground. He’ll do well for himself. Did I hear you say you’re not married, Karim?”

Although his guest’s breathing accelerated just a little, at the somewhat accusatory tone of the question, Karim was well-versed in the art of holding emotion hidden behind an impassive expression.

“Actually, sir, I did not say.”

“Huh. I don’t consider a man to be a man unless he’s settled down with a family. Here, bring me another serving of that cake, will you, son?” Chip signaled a passing waiter. “Makes me a little concerned about any potential business deal.”

“Does it?”

“Well, sure. Griffin Oceanic has been my life’s blood for a long time. I don’t wanna just sell it to any old passerby, no matter how much money he has. Gotta get a fellow of good morals and stability at the helm.”

They might have been the only two people at the table, this seller and this buyer, with each intent upon his own agenda for the future of a company. During the negotiations thus far, details had been listed cut-and-dried, with no personal aspects involved. Now, Karim was being informed of specifications that had never before been mentioned.

Chip Griffin was what newspapers were fond of labeling as a self-made man. Rough around the edges, yet full of business savvy, he exuded confidence and capability. He could easily cancel all arrangements, were they not to his taste, and either seek another purchaser or cancel the sale altogether.

Completion—including all the necessary signatures, on all the dotted lines—might depend on a mere whim. Did Sheikh Karim Al Ahsan uphold the standards upon which the old man had built his empire?

It all came down to personal liking. And a handshake.

“You question whether I shall carry on the way you have proceeded thus far?” asked Karim, after a delaying sip of ice water.

Over his own glass of choice red wine, the magnate studied his guest.

“Yes, I reckon I am. Probably shoulda done it sooner, but that’s the way with these things; they get rushed through. And, then, sometimes there’s a houseful of regrets, afterward.”

“I sincerely hope there would be no regrets, Mr. Griffin. We are both men of integrity. If you do not know that of me yet, at this point, perhaps we are wrong to continue.”

Bluff, bluff. Who in business has not done his share of bluffing, during a sticky moment? One as astute as Chip Griffin—who also happened to be quite the successful poker player—could certainly recognize a good bluff. Again, the shrewd look, from under bushy, greying brows.

“Well, now, that may be, Karim. It certainly isn’t too late for either of us to back out. I’d just like a little more information, that’s all. If you’re not a family man—”

“Ah, but I am,” Karim smoothly interrupted.

“Are you?”

“Oh, that’s nice to hear.”

This was Annemarie, interjecting in the hope that she might dispel the air of tension that had built during this conversation.

“I wasn’t sure…” Chip began, eyebrows raised.

“Indeed. It is not customary, in my culture, to share details of one’s private life in business, because, well…it is private.” An inhale, and then a rash confession, blurted out: “I have a child. A small child, a son. And a wonderful wife, whom I would be lost without.”

Where on earth had that come from?

Karim’s eyes widened for the fib he had just uttered. Fib? More like an outright lie! His gulp of remorse was covered by several hearty comments about children and their blessings, mostly from the family-obsessed head of Griffin Oceanic.

Thinking fast (and grateful that his hands had been in his lap during this little outburst) Karim subtly swapped the platinum band his parents had given him upon university graduation from his right hand to his left. At close inspection, it might not pass for a wedding ring, but he knew Annemarie would look, if only for a second, to see if he was wearing one. Chip wasn’t just married to her because she was pretty; she was sharp, too, and Karim knew she played an important role in all of Griffin’s business decisions.

“Holdin’ out on us, eh?” Chip laughed. “You guys who keep their cards close to their chests…hard to get you to admit to anything, if it isn’t business-related.”

“This is true.”

Another hasty sip of water did nothing to relieve the sudden sandpaper dryness of Karim’s throat. He noticed that Annemarie and Chip both clocked the ring on his finger as he lifted the glass with his left hand.

What had he gotten himself into? And how would he get out of it? He had lied. He, a sheikh of Al Mediznah, an honest and upright man, had just lied through his teeth when put on the spot. What imp of mischief had possessed him?

Chip Griffin would never forgive this outrage, once he knew the truth. And, for that matter, why should he? Karim could hardly forgive such stupidity, and it was he who had initiated it!

Were Karim a religious man, he would be praying to all his gods right now for a resolution to this dilemma, for which he and he alone was responsible. As it was, he barely managed to muffle an anguished groan when his host, hearty and ebullient as ever, insisted that Karim attend another party.

“Another party?”

“Sure thing. Annie and I are celebratin’ our thirtieth wedding anniversary next weekend, at our farm in upstate New York. You gotta come, and bring your wife and that little boy of yours.”

Never let them see you sweat.

Some maxim by a famous philosopher? Or just an ad campaign? Whichever, the words were certainly appropriate right now.

Responding graciously, in the manner used by any great mogul of commerce, Karim inclined his handsome head in acceptance.

“I would be delighted, Mr. Griffin, and I thank you for your invitation. My congratulations to both you and your wife on this milestone of your marriage.”

“I’ll have my people call your people for the particulars.” Griffin let out a bark of laughter at the hackneyed phrase. “Hey, service here, please. I could use some more coffee.”

Much later, when Karim, having offered a round of farewells, strolled outside to slide onto the seat of his matte black sports car, his mind was still working furiously. Whatever idiocy he had gotten involved in, for whatever reason, the damage was complete. He would just have to pull his chestnuts out of the fire before they were utterly scorched.

It could be done. He’d pulled off worse situations before.

One must simply believe six impossible things before breakfast.

And set out to accomplish them.