Alois keeps his palm steady, balancing a tray of champagne in one hand. He scans the hall, eyes sweeping back and forth through crowds clad in designer clothes and expensive jewelry. Excited chatter fills the space, accompanied by live jazz lounge music. The aroma of fresh flowers wafts through the air, occasionally undercut with tones of something savory from someone's plate or the artificial perfume on someone's person. Everything seems to glitter– the silverware, clothes, furniture, and even the air seem to have sparkle.

A man lounging on one of the couches snaps at him; he takes that as his cue to move. Carefully he threads through other oncoming servers, recognizing a few of them as fellow undercover operatives.

Once sufficiently close, the man swipes a drink off his tray and immediately jumps back into the conversation. The woman leading the dialogue is none other than the one throwing the party, Edenia Pfieffer, and coincidentally, the FBI's target of the night.

A few years into his career as an agent, a name born from rumors started circulating. The Scarlet Spades. For a while, there was nothing on them. Is it a group? Is it a person? There weren't enough deeds to give the moniker a body.

At first.

After a few confessions from those willing to bargain for gentler sentences, a profile taller than reality was born. As it turns out, Scarlet Spades is a name belonging to a feared group. One that boasts of being capable of doing anything under the sun for the right price, with an unfortunately large amount of evidence to back up their claim.

It took a lot of reconnaissance, but the FBI uncovered the puppeteer behind it all; Edenia Pfieffer, a wealthy heiress of mysterious origins. She graced the high society scene, seemingly out of nowhere, yet her finger appeared in every pie imaginable.

To the curious public, she's a source of saucy tabloid, one moment involved in a scandal, and in another, a new ambassador for a charity organization. To the rest of the FBI, Edenia Pfieffer is just a name, clumped in with Annalise Milgram, Mirilla Voigt, or Voss Adelman, to name a few aliases. The more they tried to dig into her past, the more skeletons they found. They're yet to get a clear picture of her history to this day.

Seated a few feet away from him, Edenia forms the picture of a successful socialite who has bewitched the upper crusts of society. She's lavishly dressed for the part, donning on a red gown, with her skin airbrushed to porcelain perfection. She wears her hair in a low bun with some loose to frame her face, and her lips painted crimson to match her clothing. Topping it all off is the crowd of adoring syncopates surrounding her. The guests hang onto every word she says, laugh when she laughs, and stare in anticipation for her next move. All so that they could impress her, all so that they could earn her favor. It's no secret that being her friend comes with many perks.

He steps closer to her and stays put, aiming to give the mic on him an excellent position to get a nice clear recording. He's gathering intel with the goal of mapping this mansion from front to back. While he's at it, he'll add more names to the roster of people to investigate. 'Edenia' has no shortage of minions and no shortage of skilled lawyers, so the plan is to pile on as much evidence as possible, anything to take them beyond a reasonable doubt. 

"Oh, you know me, I love to travel. This cold weather? It doesn't always agree with me. I prefer to chase the sun." Edenia says, placing a hand on her chest for added effect.

(Chase the sun? More like, chase the cash. Alois' team managed to crack a peek at her finances, giving them front-row seats to her earning and spending colossal amounts of money. Just how expensive can simple things be? Well, try having them come encrusted in precious jewels… and bespoke… so much bespoke. After that, $80 for a shirt doesn't feel so bad anymore.)

"Where did you go?" A woman asks.

"At Tenerife, I have a friend that runs a resort, and they invited me over for a visit."

(She was there to overlook illicit goods sales and settle a few border disputes with a confirmed accomplice. After getting caught, he agreed to let himself be wired for their meeting in hopes of getting a lesser sentence.)

She gestures at her silver dangle earrings and gently taps one, making the emeralds embedded on the jewelry twinkle. "See these earrings? I got them while I was out during the night. A gentleman invited me to dinner and gave them to me. He said they were from his friend."

(The earrings were a payment for a hit, his 'friend' was the target.)

A man, the same one that beckoned Alois for a drink, chuckles, a flicker of nervousness showing. "A lover of yours?"

"Hm… Almost, we parted ways. He prefers to stay at home too much."

(While lounging at home, said 'lover' had a sudden 'stroke,' he was saved in time due to their intel. Regardless, they let the word out that he passed away due to natural circumstances to keep her from being tipped)

"If only you told names," A woman pipes up.

Edenia laughs and a few giggle with her. She winks at the crowd. "Where's the fun in that? I've learned my lesson. Better to keep everyone guessing than to lose my privacy."

Too late.

She lifts a finger, and Alois diligently brings the tray over. Upon grabbing one of the cups, she looks up at him, maintaining eye contact for a few seconds before letting her gaze linger onto the rest of his face.

"Thank you." She breathes out, fluttering her eyelashes as she does so. The words drip out of her mouth with a flirtatious smile. No doubt she's deep into the character she's playing. 

Behind her, the man clenches his fist and breathes out through flared nostrils. Going by his scowl and reddening face, he's most likely trying to control himself from throwing a tantrum from not getting enough attention.

Oh, if only the fool knew what he just avoided. 

Alois gives her the barest of nods and resumes back to being a set-piece, blending in until he'll be needed to tend to them again. He swallows the tinge of irritation and maintains a veneer of indifference. After being undercover for weeks now, it's a feeling he's become familiar with. Most of the time, Alois can stay exceptionally calm under pressure. Unfortunately, in this setting, he feels incensed, witnessing a repulsive display of the elite rich voraciously eating out of the hand of a mass murderer.

His mind flashes with victims' faces as he watches the mastermind behind all their deaths lounge on a million-dollar velvet couch. How many of them know the truth? How many of them decided to turn a blind eye? Alois is glad for the recording device he has on. This night is nothing but a treasure mine of names and faces.

He redirects his anger as fuel for his focus. It'll get easier when he's piecing evidence together.

Someone snaps at him, and he offers the drink automatically.

Count your days, assholes.

-

A few weeks later, Alois and his team break into the same mansion. Dozens of men and women shuffle along in pre-planned motion, walking on marble floors with minimal noise and interruption.

It's early morning, so it will be quiet after all. But perhaps too quiet.

Night after night, Edenia threw extravagant parties whenever she was back at her mansion. Now bathing in the natural glow of dawn, it's as if a spell has broken. All the rooms and the hallways are emptied out, with no decorations or trash left from last night's party to suffice as evidence that something ever happened.

All they find on the upper floors is an nearly empty champagne glass with a red kiss mark left on the rim when they reach Edenia's study.

A few moments later, they make a horrific discovery in the basement. Against the wall lay a line of servants with blood oozing out of their chest and forehead, most likely executed before everyone else escaped. 

It was the last time the world would ever see Edenia Pfieffer.

In the ensuing months, Alois will squeeze as much as possible out of all the evidence they gathered. Despite their failure to capture, massive arrests will be made, the biggest the country has seen in a while. He will compile testimonies upon testimonies that have led chiefly nowhere. Out of the data, he puts together a list of names to watch out for, and it won't ping anything back.

Until two years later.