Five years after the historic proxy battle at The Plaza Hotel, the twilight sky above Manhattan was an ethereal masterpiece of violet, deep indigo, and molten burnished gold. High atop the soaring architectural spire of One Vanderbilt, twelve hundred feet above the bustling crossroads of 42nd Street, the private observation terrace had been transformed into an enchanting family sanctuary. Hundreds of flickering hurricane lanterns and fragrant beeswax candles cast a…
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