LENA

Something moved in his face.

"Good," he said. Quietly. With the specific weight of a man for whom anger, properly held, was more useful than its alternatives. "Stay angry."

I looked at the phone on his desk.

"What does Marcus do," I said.

"Security," he said. "Building security, personal security, residential assessment. He's been with me for six years." He looked at the window, the south-facing window, the one that had been visible from an angle I had not thought about and should not have needed to think about. "He'll do a full assessment of sight lines this afternoon. Window treatments, technical measures, monitoring." He paused. "It will change...