[Jake's POV]
The Bellamy townhouse sat behind a row of black iron gates in the kind of quiet Manhattan street where people paid obscene amounts of money to pretend the city did not exist. The building was narrow, old, and beautiful, with pale stone steps, dark green shutters, and two security cameras tucked discreetly beneath the entrance awning. It looked like a home built for charity dinners, family portraits, and secrets rich men thought would stay buried because the walls were expensive.
Marianne sat beside Claire in the back of the car, her hands folded tightly in her lap. She had not cried. She had not shouted. She had not even looked at Richard since we left the museum. That silence terrified him more than anything I could have said. Richard sat opposite her with Ethan beside him, his face pale, his tie loosened, and his eyes fixed on the floor like a man trying to disappear into the leather seats.
"Children first," Marianne said quietly.
