(THIRD PERSON POV) Martha O'Connor stood outside the Williams' gate for a full five minutes before she pressed the buzzer. Her hands were shaking. She had put on her best dress, the navy blue one that George always said made her look like a movie star. She had done her hair carefully, put on makeup, tried to look like the kind of woman who belonged in places like this. But standing here, looking at the massive iron gates, the security cameras, the intercom that felt like it was judging her—she felt small. Smaller than small. She pressed the button. A voice crackled through. "Yes?" "I'm here to see Mr. Williams." Martha's voice came out steadier than she expected. "Martha O'Connor. He knows me." There was a pause. Then the gates swung open. She walked up the long driveway, past the perfectly trimmed hedges, past the fountain, past the cars that probably cost more than her house. The front door opened before she could knock. A maid stood there, face blank, and led her ins
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