Chapter 6

The scotch still burned in my throat from last night. 

I didn’t drink scotch anymore. Not more than one glass. Control was currency in my world, and anything that compromised it…too much alcohol, sentiment, distraction…was a liability I couldn’t afford. 

Yet last night, I’d drained ten fingers of Macallan like water. 

Because of her. 

I paced the length of my penthouse, turning the facts over and over in my mind. 

Data point one: A girl broke into my Penthouse. 

Two: She attended my daughter’s school.