The news broke before I finished my coffee.
Arthur Consortium announces marriage. No photo. Three sentences. Filed through the Consortium's official communications channel at six forty-five in the morning.
By seven, it was the top story in every financial and society publication that mattered.
By eight, the speculation had reached a volume I could feel like a physical pressure.
What does she have on him?
How long before he gets bored?
The Charleaux girl married UP. She must be very good at something.
I read through thirty of them with the focused calm of someone taking inventory. Damon came in at some point, set a second cup of coffee near my elbow, and didn't comment on the headlines.
That week, I attended a dinner. One of those rooms where New York's money dressed up and pretende
