Neither of them knows yet that the next 18 hours will end one of their empires forever. The Pierre Hotel glows like a jewel box that Tuesday evening. Black town cars line Fifth Avenue. Inside the grand ballroom, 400 of America's wealthiest people circulate beneath a ceiling of chandeliers. The orchestra plays something Viennese.
Champagne flutes catch the light. Servers in white gloves glide between the tables. The room smells of perfume and old money. Whitney arrives at 7:15 in a simple black gown. Small pearl studs, no date.
Catherine Anderson spots her and walks over quickly. Whitney, I am so glad you came tonight. Catherine, thank you for the invitation. I should warn you, Harrison is in rare form tonight. Two glasses of champagne and we have not even started dinner yet.
I came prepared for rare form. Whitney, listen to me. If he says anything tonight, anything at all, I want you to know that I am with you, completely. I appreciate that, Catherine, truly. He is a deeply unhappy man pretending to be a powerful one.
Try to remember that when he opens his mouth. I will keep that in mind. They walk together toward the reception line. Harrison Whitmore stands at the top of the marble staircase in both white opera gloves, laughing with a senator from Texas. Senator, I always say there are two kinds of people in this country, builders and takers.
Could not agree more, Harrison. Could not agree more. And tonight, my friend, the builders are winning. As they should be. As they should be.
Catherine steps forward. Harrison, I would like you to meet Whitney Moore. She is a donor to the foundation this year and a respected investor. Harrison turns. His eyes start at Whitney's shoes.
They travel up her legs. They pause at her gown. They finally arrive at her face like an inspector checking a kitchen for rodents. His upper lip curls. He does not extend his hand.
He nods once, slow, the way a man nods at a delivery driver. Then he whistles softly. Phew. One short note, loud enough for the senator to hear. Catherine, I have to ask you something.
Who exactly is approving the guest list this year? Are we running some kind of inclusion experiment behind my back? A few chuckles. The senator coughs into his hand. Mr. Whitmore, Whitney says evenly, it is a pleasure to finally meet you.