And I felt, sitting there with my cold coffee and my folder, no anger about any of it — only a quiet astonishment that I had let it go on so long, and a deep, settling certainty that it was over.

At eight-oh-five, the elevator opened, and the whole troupe of them spilled out into the lobby, and I set down my coffee, and I stood up.

Chapter 9 — There Is No Mistake

Eleanor led the parade, in oversized sunglasses and a wide straw hat and an expression of profound aristocratic offense.

Harrison trailed behind her, silent as always.

Victoria was furiously typing on her phone; Raymond looked hungover; and Julian brought up the rear, jaw clenched, eyes bloodshot from what I hoped had been a sleepless night.

Eleanor rapped her room key on the granite counter.