Chapter 13

The letter came on a Tuesday. Handwritten. Cream paper. The envelope trembled slightly in my assistant's hand, as if she knew what it was. Diane Hayes. I almost threw it away unopened. Almost. "Dear Nora, I don't expect you to read this. If you do, I don't expect you to answer. I have lost my house. Grant took a second mortgage on it last year, to buy things for that woman, and I signed because he told me it was for his career. The bank took it in March. I live in a one-bedroom apartment...