That afternoon, Grayson drove back home with the steady control he applied to everything in his life, though his thoughts were anything but steady. The road passed under the tires unnoticed. His mind was already elsewhere, narrowed, focused and fixed on a single name.
The moment he stepped inside, the house fell into its usual quiet, expansive and obedient. He went straight to his study, loosened his cufflinks, and opened his laptop. What began as a routine check quickly turned obsessive. Files opened and closed. Names were cross checked. Timelines aligned and then refused to. Betty’s image hovered in his thoughts.
He had barely registered the passage of time when one of his men walked in and, without ceremony, dropped into the chair beside him.
“You’ve been distracted,” the man said,
