he was ready to talk.
I included my complete address.
Someone at Vale Tower signed for the letter.
But Adrian never replied.
I kept the postal receipt, tracking confirmation, and a copy of my letter in a blue folder beneath my kitchen sink.
For two years, that folder remained untouched.
Until the afternoon a black SUV pulled into my driveway.
A silver-haired woman stepped out wearing an elegant cream-colored coat.
I recognized her immediately from business magazines.
Celeste Vale.
Adrian’s mother.
A second person emerged carrying a leather briefcase.
He
