Chapter 5

By Tuesday morning, Grant Hayes had lost everything with the Whitlock name on it. The black Mercedes, gone. The Tribeca penthouse, locked. His corporate cards, declined at a steakhouse in front of three former colleagues. A waiter posted the receipt online. It got fifty thousand likes. By Wednesday, he'd called me forty-one times. I didn't answer. But I listened to one voicemail, late at night, when Lily was asleep. "Nora. It's me." He sounded drunk. Or crying. Maybe both. "I made a mistake....