REMI'S POV
Emory arrived at the penthouse that evening.
He came alone, which told me something — that this conversation was one he'd decided required him without Cressida's professional buffer. He looked like a man who hadn't been home since morning and hadn't bothered to consider changing.
Dax let him in. They looked at each other for one moment in the doorway — two men who had been managing the same complex situation from opposite ends for years, now standing five feet apart in the same hallway — and then Emory came in and Dax stepped back and gave the room to us.
"Sit down," I said.
We sat.
I told him about the photograph. About Patricia's call. About the card.
He listened without interrupting. When I finished he was quiet for a long moment.
"The photograph was in my home," he s
