Gloria followed her up, and the two of them talked through the wall in short, sharp bursts we couldn’t make out.

Trent sat down on the arm of the sofa.

He twisted his wristwatch twice, and the diamond tennis bracelet shifted against it, and I knew exactly whose money had paid for every link.

“I can get this sorted out by Friday,” he said.

“Just give me a week.”

David wrote something small on his pad.

He didn’t tear off the sheet.

“She was nineteen in that version of the story,” he said.