How a Dying Woman Rewrote Her Epilogue

Elodie hadn't been looking well lately.

She'd noticed it herself the last time-now, she'd fainted again.

Did Jarrod... know about any of this?

Elodie didn't sleep a wink that night.

When morning came, she felt drained, her nerves frayed. The looming issue with the gallery hung over her like a guillotine, impossible to ignore. She couldn't shake the feeling that things weren't over yet.

After turning it over in her mind, she decided to take matters into her own hands.

She called Jarrod, but whatever he was doing, he didn't pick up. Or maybe-he just didn't want to.

Either way, Elodie no longer cared about the why.

She headed straight for The Silverstein Group.

She'd worked there for three years-long enough that the receptionist recognized her. Elodie phoned Keith in the executive office; his voice was as chilly as ever. "Mr. Silverstein is busy, Ms. Thorne. You'll have to wait."

Elodie made her way upstairs and settled into the lounge.

bother with a greeting, just turned and

other assistants who knew Elodie well. In the past, she'd made a point to befriend them—lunches, coffee breaks, a little harmless gossip—anything

her, and after some small talk, one of them said, "You might be waiting a while, Elodie.

guest?" another chimed in with a wink. "More like the apple of

swamped with work to see her.

she owns the place. No restrictions, no appointments-Mr. Silverstein's door is always open to

talking about some

a spectator

had to make appointments and wait her turn,

else cleared the way

brought Elodie a cup of tea,

went from the executive

here forever. She spotted Keith rounding the

still

files in

supposed to

waiting. He left with Ms.

no mistaking the cool calculation in

here? Or had Jarrod known,