“What,” he said, “what does Sterling Tower have to do with any of this?

That’s a commercial high-rise in Manhattan!” And I answered him myself, softly, because I wanted to be the one to say it.

“It was your primary landlord, Luca.

The office space your firm occupies on the forty-second floor, the address on all your business cards, the one you’re so proud of.

It’s owned by my late aunt.

It was always owned by my late aunt.

And your lease expired last week.” I watched the last of the color leave his face.