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When Celeste sent him the results, Nolan appeared uninvited at Harold Winslow’s office the next morning, wearing a navy suit I had bought him for our anniversary. I was there signing documents for the trust. Nolan walked in holding a folder and wearing a salesman’s smile.
Harold stood.
“Mr. Greer, this is a private meeting.”
I looked at Nolan carefully. For years, I had studied his moods like weather, learning when to speak, when to retreat, when to make myself smaller.
Now I felt only distance.
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