HE GAVE HIS MISTRESS MY PADDLE. HE FORGOT THE AUCTION HOUSE BELONGED TO ME

the top twelve floors of a glass tower on Madison Avenue. Julian had personally approved the lobby’s black marble, the scent pumped through the ventilation system and the enormous silver logo behind the reception desk.

CROSS CONTINENTAL.

The letters had always been too large.

That morning, employees stood silently as I entered.

Some looked frightened.

Others continue reading …