Rebecca had been detained at JFK Airport trying to board a flight to Switzerland.

The police had linked her to the intruder through text messages found on her assistant’s phone.

“It is over, Jonathan,” Benjamin told him over the speakerphone. “The board has removed her, and the prosecutors are filing charges.”

Jonathan closed his eyes, exhaling a long breath.

“And the company?” Jonathan asked.

“The board is restructuring,” Benjamin said. “But you are officially out. The papers are signed.”

“Good,” Jonathan said. “I don’t want a single dollar from that building.”

He looked at me, and for the first time in years, the tension in his jaw was gone.

“I need to find a place to live,” he said.

Three days later, I helped him look at a small apartment just four blocks away.

It was a pre-war building with creaking wood floors and a view of a small community garden.

The kitchen was tiny, with an old white refrigerator and a gas stove.

“It’s perfect,” Jonathan said, touching the radiator.

“It’s very different from the penthouse,” I noted.