Alexander read it, gripped by a childlike terror. “I don’t even know what to say to her.”

Marcus closed his briefcase. “Then start by listening.”

The chapel was small — plain stone walls, worn wooden pews, none of the opulence of the cathedral where the Sterlings staged their charity galas. Alexander saw her in the third row, her back to him, in a simple white blouse and dark trousers, her hair tied back.

On her left wrist, the silver moon bracelet caught the morning light.

He approached and stopped a few feet away. “Valerie.”

She didn’t stand or turn. “Don’t use that name like you didn’t let them bury it.”