Seventeen Minutes on Route 18 Wrecked an Eighteen-Million-Dollar Corporate Buyout
“What?”
“You said the letter goes out by three.
What happens at two?”
“Nothing that concerns you,” Gavin said.
“The Whitcombe people walked out at nine thirty-five.
I have a buyer coming at two, and I can’t have you in the building when they arrive.”
A buyer.
The word sat in the car between us, small and sharp.
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