The private room of the upscale steakhouse buzzed with laughter, clinking glasses, and the low thrum of background jazz. Mahogany walls glowed warm in the candlelight. Crystal goblets gleamed. And Charlotte sat near the end of the long table, legs crossed beneath her tight black pencil skirt, sipping a whiskey neat—her drink of choice when she wanted to feel powerful. She’d been Benjamin Holt’s personal assistant for five...