Isabella.
The news about Julian’s arrest was still all over the television screens in Manhattan. Every financial channel showed pictures of Nathan’s best friend being led away in handcuffs from that fancy restaurant. Even though I was across town in my Tribeca loft, I could feel the rumble of the corporate world shaking.
I sat at my wide wooden desk, staring at the monitors. My loft did not have soft carpets or colorful paintings. It had gray concrete walls, dark steel beams, and rows of private, black computer servers that buzzed quietly in the corner. This place was my fortress. It kept the outside world away.
I picked up a glass of cold water and took a small sip. My eyes ached from looking at the glowing rows of financial data. For the last few hours, I had been watching the stock
