The knock on my door was sharp, insistent, like it carried its own urgency. I hadn’t been expecting anyone tonight, and the tension in the apartment hadn’t eased, even after the quiet evening with Celeste. I frowned, setting down the paperwork I had been reviewing—strategies, numbers, projections—but my focus was elsewhere anyway: on Celeste, on Marga, on the chaos I couldn’t seem to untangle.

I opened the door to see Drew standing there, jacket half unzipped, a cigarette dangling ...