He was met by Robert Sinclair’s personal driver, who whisked him into the city during the height of rush hour. Tired of the back-and-forth over this deal, he was ready to make a billion-dollar decision. If his backing wasn’t going into Sinclair Resorts, it would go somewhere else. You didn’t make money by sitting on what you had. He leaned back against the black leather and watched the world rush by as the workday ended and nightlife began. New York, the city of money and power. The heartbeat of the business world. But Trace Development was in Virginia, because that’s where his fiancée had wanted it. He’d thought to move a hundred times since, and a hundred times pushed the thought aside. He couldn’t run from memories. Couldn’t run from the fact that she was gone. Murdered by two teenagers who had nothing better to do than follow an unsuspecting woman home. If he’d had his way and they’d married sooner, he’d have been left a widower. As it was, he’d just been really close.
