Nathaniel’s face did not change when she showed him the photograph. This was the thing about him she had learned to read most carefully, the absolute stillness that was not calm but was the thing he put on top of fear so no one could see it.
He turned the photograph over twice. Read the back twice.
Then he picked up his phone and called building security.
The investigation took four hours and produced nothing useful. The security logs showed no unauthorized entry. The cameras in the corridor outside the penthouse door showed nothing between two in the afternoon and four, a gap that the head of security described as a system glitch with the careful professionalism of a man who knew that answer was inadequate.
“Someone cut the feed,” James said, when Nathaniel called him. “A glitch does
