Two weeks had dragged by. The financial report on Edmund's desk showed zero activity on every one of my canceled supplementary cards.
He signed the last document and tossed his pen across the desk with a sharp clatter.
That restless, gnawing irritation had spread from his stomach into his bones.
He'd buried himself in work, pulling all-nighters at the office, but nothing could drown out the hollow, wrong feeling that clung to every corner of his life.
One afternoon, a quarterly board meeting wrapped up early.
For the first time in months, he headed home at four o'clock.
The elevator slid open to his penthouse floor, and he found the front door propped ajar.
The sound of furniture scraping and plastic crinkling drifted out from inside.
He stepped in. Celeste was standing in the mast
