Carter found Elena in the middle of restacking a pile of vendor contracts that had somehow multiplied overnight, the particular chaos of a desk belonging to someone who had too many active problems and not enough hours to solve any of them properly.
"You have a minute?" he asked, already closing the door behind him without waiting for permission — a habit Elena had learned meant whatever he wanted to say wasn't for the open floor.
"Depends what kind of minute."
"The kind where I tell you something that's going to make you angry at Mark, which I realize is not exactly breaking news at this point."
Elena set down the contract she was holding. "Go on."
Carter told her about Barnaby — the missed feedings, the two days alone in the penthouse, the housekeeper quietly absorbing a responsibil
