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... desk, the numbers blurring before my eyes. Three weeks. It had been three goddamn weeks since Freya walked out, and Stone Lake was crumbling beneath my fingers like wet sand.
"Alpha, the Henderson contract needs your signature immediately." My new assistant—what was his name again? Mark? Mike?—hovered anxiously in the doorway, clutching a folder that should have been organized, vetted, and summarized days ago.
"Put it with the others," I growled, gesturing to the mounting pile o ...
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