Elena suddenly thought about the folder on the shelf, in the penthouse.The financial documents. The protective contributions to the company's operating base. The careful, clean, untraceable channels.She thought about Marcus at the kitchen table, saying I've been protecting the asset.She thought about the house in British Columbia. The prosthetic. The green ink. The four and a half hours on the porch.She thought about the man who had just returned to New York with them and was at this moment in the penthouse with Rosa, learning the geography of a space that had been Elena's for six years.She thought about one thing Isabelle had said.As though someone knew the estate would be restructured."Howard Chen," she said, without turning from the window."Yes," he said."When Marcus came to New York four years ago. When he established the consulting firm. When he started the financial contributions." She pa
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