The Architecture of a Lie
Autumn in Seattle never arrived gently.
It came with cold rain, sharp wind, and the kind of damp chill that settled beneath your clothes and refused to leave.
Beyond the enormous windows of the Rhodes estate, the storm had finally weakened into a thin drizzle. Lake Washington stretched beneath the gray sky like hammered metal while the old maple trees bent in the wind.
Inside, everything was bright, polished, and perfectly controlled.
And I had just signed my divorce papers.
At least, that was what
