The morning sun broke over the East River with the brilliance of polished gold, illuminating the bronze and glass spires of Lower Manhattan. From the forty-second floor of 30 Rockefeller Plaza, Vivian Mercer stood before the panoramic windows with a porcelain teacup cradled in both hands. The city below was stirring to life—the yellow cabs streaming down Fifth Avenue, the distant tugboats cutting silver wakes through the harbor, and the…
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