Beneath the splendid masks, the foundation of everything had rotted through.

I had learned, over those thirteen years, the exact difference between the things money buys and the things it only counterfeits.

Money had bought me a house so large that Delphine and I could go a full day under the same roof without meeting, and often did.

It had bought a marriage that photographed beautifully and contained, when the cameras were off, not one honest conversation.

It had bought a staff paid to smile at me and a circle of friends who would evaporate the instant my fortune did — as I would soon find out, precisely and on schedule.