After her studio went bankrupt, even her white BMW 3 Series was mortgaged. Eleanor was left penniless.
Even her most recent FY dividend had gone straight to Anson Whitaker's mother.
Standing on the coastal bridge, the sea breeze blowing through her hair, Eleanor felt her mind grow strangely clear.
She took out her phone and opened her password-protected private album.
There was only one photo in it.
A photo of her and Julian.
Back at the juvenile detention center, they had finally gotten hold of a cell phone, and she had secretly taken this picture.
She didn't know whether Julian had realized she was sneaking a photo of him back then. He might not have noticed. Or he might have noticed and pretended not to.
The juvenile detention center in this city ran on a management model that w
