ne fortress that had survived the Depression, the war, and three generations of social climbers. Annika parke

sted on the Tribeca penthouse with its helicopter pad and its floor-to-ceiling views of the river. She'd hated it here,

ofessional, unchanging. "Mrs. Eleanor is

James. I'l

h November. Eleanor sat by the window in a wingback chair, a cashmere shawl around her

Eleanor said. It

e as m

stured to the opposite chair. "Sit. Drink. Tell me why m

he same bottle Ethan kept in his study for closing deals

ally. "Haven Franks. His best friend's widow. She

ully hidden. The apartment on Bank Street. The monthly deposits. The medical appointments he attends as her next of kin." She looked at Annika directly, bl

r throat tight

." Eleanor reached across the table, covered Annika's hand with her own. The skin was paper-thin, spotted with age, but the grip was firm. "I also know

t still. "

I have an old friend on the board of trustees at Johns Hopkins. After you and Ethan were married

et down her glass, afraid she mig

hrough their program in forty years. He mentioned a Dr. Edmund Roy, who was apparently quite devastated when you left." Eleanor's expression sof

for forty-eight hours, returned to find Harlow had covered her cases and Dr. Roy had left a single rose on her locker. She hadn't

telling me th

em. But the possibility. Ethan is not a bad man, Annika. He is a limited one. He sees the world in terms of debts and obligations, and he has never learned to see people a

sking me

"Divorce him if you must. God knows he deserves it. But don't disappear completely. Don't let him believe you were never real, never serious, never

diment. It was manipulation, she knew-elegant, well-intentioned, but manipulation nonetheless. The gra

ika hadn't fully articulated. Ethan didn't know her. Had never known her. She'd hidden her excellence, her ambitio

plicit in her own

bout it," she

r glass. "To thinking. And to women w

on, the scandalous behavior of some cousin twice removed who'd married a tennis instructor in Mustique. By t

child Haven carries-it's not Ethan's. Biologically, I mean

loor shift beneat

tection regardless of biology, that Boyd would have wanted-" Eleanor

otecting another man's child, claiming paternity he knew was false, destroying his marriage for a lie he was choosing

k and silent on the passenger seat. Harlow was home when she arrived, cooking something t

lair?" he asked, not t

he hook, her coat on the chair. "Harlow-

set down the wooden spoon, turned

or tol

strative office looking for a misplaced slide from one of my own cases. I saw a file left on the copier... it was open to a summary page. It had her name on it. Non-invasive prenatal testing, with a p

. He's known

es

ng down on her like physical weight. "He's destroying everythi

e table, sat across from her, close enough to touch. "It's not about the child, Annika. It's never been about the child. It's about his guilt, an

. Harlow Fleming, her rival, her mirror, the man who'd watched her walk away wit

helping me?

scrubbing. "Because I watched you disappear into that marriage and I told myself it wasn't my place to intervene. Because I was angry,

ought, or maybe Schubert, something melancholy and unresolved. She thought of Eleanor'

dition," she

me

o I was-you don't get to be disappointed in me. Not ever again.

urned to the stove, and stirred whatever was simmering

es

to anything. You fight for your place. You take up space. You let people see you." He looked back, and his s

tling between them like a treaty

" Harlow plated the food, set it on the table between