The girl—no fixed address, a pretty sharp tongue, eyes like she’d already lost everything worth losing—stood in the marble entryway of the house. I stood beside her, watching her surprised expression. She would be indebted and very grateful to me. As she should be.

She looked around. Chandeliers. Gold trim. Floors so clean they reflected my shoes.

"What do you think? You'll live here for the rest of your life if you want to."