stood beside the conference table, pointing at drawings of a rooftop terrace.
Marcus sat opposite him.
The lender’s representative joined by video, her expression impossible to read.
“Once we close,” Daniel said, “the property becomes the flagship for Harbor House.”
The door opened.
Mom entered beside my attorney, wearing the red scarf I had bought her years before.
Her breathing was steady, though she held my arm as we sat.
Daniel’s smile tightened.
“Evelyn, this is private.”
“It’s my building,” she said. “I was invited.”
My attorney placed one folder
