At ten o'clock on Friday morning, the executive reception lobby of Davenport & Cross was bathed in the pale autumn light filtering across Elliott Bay. A low fog drifted over the docks below, where container cranes hoisted steel cargo boxes in rhythmic synchronization. The elevator doors chimed, and Claire Evans stepped into the lobby. The contrast between this woman and the haughty, emerald-clad mistress who had. "Mrs. Hayes and Mr.…
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