detectives. Connor Vance remained still, looking through the glass wall, certain that Keating’s impending forensic audit would leave him bankrupt and likely facing a lengthy federal indictment.
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Eleanor struggled up, using the heavy edge of the dining table to pull herself onto her trembling legs. The aristocratic arrogance that had sustained her for forty years was entirely gone, replaced by frantic desperation.
She lurched toward me, extending both hands, and seized my jacket lapel.
“Blair! Blair, my darling, my baby girl!” Eleanor wept, her voice rising into a shrill,