At fifteen after six, Morgan stood outside his loft, completely dumbfounded. A white flyer was taped to his door, “Beacon Inn” written across the top in dark red letters. He pulled the paper down and unlocked the door, somewhat shaken. He hadn’t noticed a flier anywhere else—just his place. Once inside, he crumpled the paper and threw it into the trash, determined to ignore the damn thing. Hell, he’d already decided to go anyway.
He set his coat and briefcase down. Then he hit Play on his answering machine and turned the television on to the news, only half-listening to the drone of his mother’s voice once again. He went into the kitchen to get a beer when the next message came on.
“Mr. Adamson, I would like to invite you to the grand opening of my club, Beacon Inn, this evening. The fes
