Chapter 14

Five years later. The Chicago tower has my name on the thirty-eighth floor now — SINCLAIR, my own house, my own label, majority mine, and Ryder holds a minority stake he insists on describing as "emotional support equity." Wren is five. She has her father's dark eyes and my hands, which is unfortunate for her but excellent for the family business, and she has decided that she draws now. Everything. Walls included. We've stopped fighting it and started buying primer in bulk. Last Sunday she...