life look ordinary.
I lived in a comfortable house outside Chicago. I drove a sensible car. I wore simple clothes, preferred quiet restaurants to expensive clubs, and rarely discussed money unless there was a practical reason to do so.
To Ethan, I was a consultant who worked with international clients.
To his mother, Susan, I was a woman who had somehow managed to marry her son despite lacking the family connections she considered essential.
Neither description was entirely accurate.
My career had begun in financial risk management. I specialized in
