The invitation came on a Thursday, and it wasn't really an invitation.
*Victor's place upstate. Friday to Sunday. Bring nothing.*
She'd told Richard a version of the truth. "The investors are doing a retreat. Victor wants me there." And Richard, who had spent nine years not asking, had said "okay" and gone back to his laptop.
She packed a bag with nothing in it — one dress, a toothbrush, no underwear — and on Friday morning a black car came for her and took her two hours north to a house on the edge of a lake.
It was huge. Old stone, glass, a lawn running down to the water. The kind of house a man builds when he's finished proving things. And all three of them were already there when she walked in — Victor on the terrace, Elias in the kitchen, Marcus on the stairs, and the whole house
